Flushback Friday: The Toilet Saga

Hi, my virtual unseen friends. Apologies for the lack of updates. 

I didn’t mean to go MIA all of a sudden, but here’s the truth: I spent the whole weekend dwelling on a toilet-related incident. It was terrible—almost painful, even. But I’ve finally gathered enough inner peace to share what happened today. So… welcome to the toilet saga of the year.

Friday, September 26th 2025 — 09:00 a.m.

It all started in the comfort of my cold office room. Friday began as breezy as usual. I was in a meeting with two other people when I remembered I hadn’t bought dinner yet. (Yes, I plan everything ahead. And yes, I take my meals very seriously. Take notes, friends—or maybe don’t. You’ll see the consequence of this so-called responsible act soon.)

I messaged the office canteen cashier, intending to order takeout. I told her I would pick it up at 1 p.m., and she said yes. 

Friday, September 26th 2025 — 01:00 p.m.

I went to pick up my dinner, but the cashier told me the kitchen had forgotten to pack it.

Oh well.

Friday, September 26th 2025 — 05:00 p.m.

I was starting to feel hungry, but since I was still reviewing documents, I decided to work a little overtime.

Friday, September 26th 2025 — 06:30 p.m.

Review done! Since I was the only one left in the office, I quickly packed up and headed to a nearby food court. I settled on a bowl of noodles—not my favorite, but decent enough. 

Friday, September 26th 2025 — 07:00 p.m.

After dinner, I wanted nothing more than to go home and binge Wednesday Season 2. But since I was going home by bus (and who knew how long it would take to arrive?), I decided to play it safe and use the bathroom first.

I remember the incident clearly. I had just walked in when someone exited the middle stall. “That was quick,” I thought, and went in.

The stall was small and a little cramped. A quick scan told me there was no hanger, so I squeezed my belongings onto a tiny ledge sticking out from the wall. After making sure my backpack and clutch were balanced, I turned around.

And then came a loud BAM—and the clock seemed to stop.

No. No.

NOOO.

My backpack had fallen straight into the toilet. 

(Yes. You read that right.) 

I frantically wiped it with tissues, but the thought of all the bacteria made me want to cry and wake up from this nightmare. I was so grossed out I could barely think clearly. With the tiny bit of consciousness I had left, I headed slowly to the bus stop. 

Everything after that was a blur. I remember wrapping my jacket around the backpack so it wouldn’t touch my bedroom floor, then washing my cute Emma keychain—because I couldn’t look at her the same way ever again. I was too stunned to do any damage control that night, so I washed my backpack (five or six times) the next day. I left it to dry all weekend before finishing it off with generous sprays of hand sanitizer. 

So, that was my weekend. It took me two days to finally get over the disgust I felt toward my backpack and the toilet that almost swallowed it. But I’m fine now. I’m greeeeat (or at least that’s what I keep telling myself).

If you like this post, you might also enjoy Debacle with a Chance of Meatballs and Rush Hour 0.5: The Most Dramatic Commute of My Life.