The Dharma Washroom

It was just sitting there, alone, waiting for a friend.

“Hey, look at me so shiny and inviting,” it seemed to whisper to me.

I debated: Should I pick it up? Or leave it? Maybe the real owner might be right back to claim it. Better to leave it. Well, it’s doubtful she is going to miss it any time soon and it’s kind of risky to just leave it perched there.

What’s the moral high road in this situation?

How does one decide what to do?

I want to set a good example for my kids, after all.

What to do, what to do?

“Mommy, I all done!” chirped a little voice, shaking me out of my reverie.

It’s just a quarter on a toilet seat, get a hold of yourself woman. I reached to pick it up and stopped again. Cue the inner dialogue:

It’s on a toilet seat. All money is gross anyways.

It’s in a public washroom. So?

At a fast food restaurant. Still…

Again I reached to pick it up, thinking I’d let my young son pocket it. And then it became clear to me. This was a social experiment. I have a psychology degree, after all, so I am quite familiar with creating artificial situations to find correlations no one really needs to know about. Someone had left the quarter in plain sight on the toilet seat and was waiting for some subject to claim it. Well, it wasn’t going to be me.

This is just like “Lost” but in a public restroom. Did JJ Abrams relocate to Canada? What’s the end game? Will a polar bear jump out suddenly and hand me my fries and pop? Where’s the black smoke? I don’t think I can handle time travel. HOW DO I GET OFF THIS ISLAND?

Before the paranoia had a chance to (fully) set it, I firmly decided that it was best to go home less twenty-five cents, but with my sanity mostly intact. Plus, I wouldn’t want to over think it or anything.