Humans are fickle creatures of habit. The routes we walk, the lunch schedule we keep, the direction in which we brush our teeth, the choice of making our beds or tossing our covers on the floor. Anything we can package and sequentialize, we do, and we do it without thinking. Everyday quite literally becomes everyday, and each single aspect that we can control and make into a pattern is just that. A pattern. No wonder there are so many cases of stalking in the world, we’re practically holding out our daily routines like high schoolers jabbering about their class schedules. Whenever something goes “wrong” and pushes us off our habitual pattern, there’s that nagging sense of uneasiness that lingers in the pit of our stomach. Even if the event doesn’t negatively affect our lives, it’s still a change that we didn’t ask for, and dammit all we will not stand for it.
Such as bathroom stalls. Do you ever work/live in a place with shared restrooms for so long that eventually you unconsciously pick a stall that you like “best”? Not only best, but it has become mine. For some odd reason or another we choose that one particular toilet, and should it be left unflushed or have a broken door or, God forbid, preoccupied, we run into a momentary mental wall. On the outside, we just blink and simply choose the next available stall.
In our minds however, we’re going through a torrent of emotion and irrational thinking. “What? What?! It’s taken? How could it be taken? Why would someone take it? It’s never taken! What am I supposed to do?! Man I knew I should have held it for a little longer. This has never happened before, should I do something? Kick the door open? Wait for them to finish? Scream fire? Sacrifice a small she-goat? What am I- oh, right.” And then we hang our heads and hope that no one else noticed the second of madness glazing over our eyes as we dejectedly shuffle onto the next best toilet.
Or is it just me?