It was a typical busy day at the orifice (office). Crazy busy, agents rushing around, customers and clients filling our 2-story building, and the phone ringing off the hook. I am inclined to hang around the front desk in times like these, helping out the client coordinator. Lanna is extremely capable, but there are only two of us, trying to handle a team of 10 agents and numerous clientele.
The young son of one of our customers comes racing towards the front desk, holding a box of matches in his hand. He exclaims excitedly, "These were in your bathroom!!!!" His tone was of sheer panic, as if our lives were in danger, because they were in plain view, IN OUR BATHROOM. That SMALL CHILDREN might occupy. Such as HIMSELF. It was as if he had discovered a hornet's nest in there - along with a rattlesnake and two tarantulas thrown in for good measure.
Lanna and I try to keep from bursting out in laughter, and I calmly tell the boy, "It's alright Sweetheart, they belong in there. That is their home." All the while, trying not to lose complete control, while witnessing the abject horror on his face.
Thankfully, his mother was not one of the complacent parents we often encounter. She had overheard the conversation, and swooped in to save us from our plight. "It's okay, **** (name deleted to protect the innocent/panicked), they probably use those to light candles in there from time to time. Just go put them back where they belong."
As Lanna and I almost collapse from the effort of stifling raucous laughter, the mother watches lovingly as the lad leaves to return the matches to their proper place on the back of the commode. She passes us this knowing look, with great kindness, as we share the common "assumption" of what great benefit matches can be for those who choose (or are forced by nature) to use that facility for more "odorous" bodily evacuations. This bathroom is dangerously close to the lobby, and though we have three bathrooms - this particular one has the perfect ambience to get the bowels moving. Sometimes, the Febreze spray just doesn't do the trick.
Shortly thereafter, I hear this loud voice from the bathroom: "I've looked all over in here, and I CAN'T FIND CANDLES!!!! Where are the CANDLES?!?!?! How can they light candles?!?!? THERE AREN'T ANY IN HERE!!!"
The mother, obviously mortified, apologizes with, "I guess he's just at that age where you can't put one over on him." Sadly, we could barely respond, as Lanna and I finally collapsed and burst out laughing, tears streaming down our face.
I don't envy that poor woman, as she will have to finally explain the matches. I can envision her future, as her son will undoubtedly one day "do his business," light a match, stick his head in the toilet to take a whiff and exclaim, "MOM!!!! This DOESN'T WORK!!!! I've lit the match, and how come I CAN STILL SMELL S**T?!?!?!?!"