Elevenses

It may have seemed extreme, but visiting the men’s room in his long coat was the only way to bring the adjustable wrench into the cubicle unseen. “Somewhere, some accountant bean counter made a business case for buying single-ply toilet paper,” Adrian thought to himself as he sat and worked on the unyielding bolts of the toilet roll holder, “and they justified LOCKING the toilet rolls in industrial grade steel dispensers to deter the pilfering activities of criminally-minded staff.” Two beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he sweltered at his work with the wrench, crouching in his heavy great coat.

Finally, two innocent rolls of thin toilet paper were freed from their corporate bondage: it was a symbolic moment. Adrian slipped one each into the deep outside pockets of his coat. He was the vigilante – they would be safe with him. Concealing the wrench, he flushed the unused toilet and left the cubicle with a confident and brisk step, feeling like Darth Vader in his flowing cloak having committed a devious act for the dark side – and without washing his hands.