• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 384 0

use the restroom. He wanted to try to use the restroom before leaving, but he also wanted to delay their departure as long as possible, dreading their return to the stifling confines of the Honda. Inside the restaurant, things had gone well. Feeling less enclosed and considerably less vulnerable, Milo had been able to relax and chat with Emma without fear of any demands arising. And even if one did, he wasn’t worried that the demand could not be met without informing Emma of his condition. The freedom and the mobility of the outside world, the world beyond the plastic and steel enclosure of the Honda, gave him confidence that all of the problem-solving strategies that he had developed over the years could be utilized in the event that a demand arose. Once he was trapped within the car, however, all of his experience and preparation would be useless. Regardless of his skill, there was no way that he could open jars of jelly, crush Weebles, or peel the price tags off books while simultaneously driving alongside a woman he barely knew. Once they were back inside the car, everything would be considerably more difficult.

As he returned to their booth, Emma rose, piling the detritus from their meal onto the plastic tray. She appeared ready to leave. Though he knew that he could only delay their departure by minutes, Milo couldn’t resist trying, if only for a few more moments of relaxed conversation. “Have you ever noticed how much water a urinal uses to flush?” he asked, hoping the question might return Emma to her seat.

“I don’t use a lot of urinals, Milo. I know you haven’t seen me naked, but I don’t have a penis. Makes it hard for me to pee into a wall-mounted toilet.”

“Right.” Even without the aid of a mirror, Milo knew that he was blushing.

“But I’ll bite. How much does it use? Why do you ask?” She hadn’t returned to her seat, but at least she had stopped moving for the moment.

“Oh. Well, a urinal has this information written on top. Most of them do, anyway. And they all say the same thing: one gallon per flush. Not in words, but they all say ‘one gpf.’ Gallon per flush. Does that seem odd to you?”

“The initials, you mean?”

“No, not the initials. The gallons per flush part.”

“Milo, I told you. I don’t have a lot of urinal experience, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“But you don’t need experience to find this odd. Think about it this way. Of all the amounts of water to possibly choose, what are the odds that one gallon is the perfect amount to clear the average urinal? What if the thing flushed eight-tenths of a gallon instead? Or nine-tenths of a gallon? Am I expected to believe that nine-tenths isn’t enough, but one gallon is just right?”

“Okay,” Emma said. “But what’s your point?”

“With every environmentalist in the world telling us to conserve water, warning us that we only have so much fresh water on the earth, don’t you think it’s shameful that the urinal companies would choose an arbitrary amount of water to flush their toilets instead of figuring out the exact amount needed?”

“I guess. This really bothers you, huh?”

“It does. But not because of the wasted water. I mean, I’m not happy about the waste, but I don’t understand why it doesn’t bother other people too.”

“I guess that in the grand scheme of things, it isn’t such a big deal to people.”

“That’s what Christine says, but I disagree. Think of all those millions of flushes every day. Each one of them is probably wasting a little bit of water each time, and that adds up quick.”

“Okay. Fair enough.”

“And another thing. Why am I always hearing that we have only so much fresh water on the earth, and when it’s gone, it’s gone forever? What about all the salt water that evaporates from the ocean and falls on the land as fresh water? Isn’t brand-new fresh water being created all the time?”

“This kind of stuff drives your wife a little crazy, huh?”

“No, it doesn’t, and that’s the problem. She thinks I get all worked up over these silly little things, but they aren’t silly.”

“That’s what I meant,” Emma said. “She doesn’t understand why you