Five minutes of Andrew Smith's Life

Five minutes of Andrew Smith's Life

I was sitting in my bed reading my math homework. From the top bunk, I had a good view over our small dorm room. Definite integrals weren't particularly interesting and led me to look over the textbook top. I scanned the small room with my eyes, or mostly the area around the bathroom door. The bathroom was placed to the right of 'The front door' . Since both, 'The front door' and the bathroom door opened into our dorm room, there was a clear line on the back of ' The front door'. Where it had been slammed up, uncountable amounts of times, into the open bathroom door. 'The front door'  was not actually a front door. The real front door was on the floor below and there were both four doors and a staircase between 'The front door' and the real front door that led outside. The 'front door's name came from the fact that it was written on the back off the door with a red permanent marker ('The front door'). It was there when I moved in and nobody knew why it was there or who had written it, so from the second week I lived there we referred to it as 'The front door'.

I sat there not reading definite integrals, not that definite integrals forced my eyes away from the book. It was the fear that, if I put definite integrals down and went to bathroom, I wouldn't be able to pick it up again. My deeply philosophical thoughts, about whether to go to the bathroom or not, were suddenly stopped when my roommate Jack Salisbury burst through 'The front door' slamming it into the open bathroom door. Some will wonder how a door, that theoretical could stay open in a infinite amount of angles, always slams agents the other door with infinite angels, on the same line. That was because of the architectural wonder that was our dorm room. Not only did it have a set of doors that would slowly destroy each other. But it also had a warped bathroom door frame, so if you forgot to shut the bathroom door completely, it would slowly swing open to an angle of 82.8 degrees from the wall it was placed in. The other component to the slow self-destruction door mechanism was that 'The front door' was somehow always super lubricated, so 'The front door' would swing open with the smallest touch. After Jack once again helped the two doors destroy each other. He took one large step in to the room, gave the door a light push so it would close behind him. He turned 97.2 degrees and walked straight into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Now definite integrals had suddenly become way more interesting then my soon to be full bladder.
I didn't know what was wrong with Jack, but you could smell whether he had emptied his back or his bladder. And I don't mean that you could smell his shit, and if it wasn't there you knew that he just had taken a leak. NO I mean that when he had taken a shit, the bathroom smelled like shit and when he had taken a leak the bathroom smelled of piss. But not just piss, not the normal public bathroom smell, this was a strong sulfur like smell. First time I smelled it, I thought that he maybe had taken something from the chemistry lab and tried using the toilet bowl as a large mixing cup. But now, every time that I went to the bathroom after Jack has taken a leak, the sulfur like smell hang in the bathroom like thick curtains. It wasn't so bad that you had problems breathing. But it was uncomfortable to be in the small bathroom.  In  history class I had read that people once used piss to make gunpowder. If regular piss could make gunpowder I was pretty sure that Jack's piss could be used to make TNT, C4 or some other high explosives.

I knew that there was something wrong with Jack or at least his bladder. It wasn't natural that you piss smelled like waste water from a chemical plant. But how do you tell you roommate, that also happened to be the only football player on campus that wasn't a complete jerk, that his piss didn't smell normal. Jack was the only player on the football team that used his brain more than his muscles. The rest of the team used their muscles to achieve their grades, their money and their way to hot girlfriends. But Jack was different he didn't intimidate the nerds to help him. He asked for help, and helped others when they asked him. I usually helped him with history and received help with anything that required any kind of physical activity. The only two things Jack needed to do, before he got the best roommate in history awarded (and this  comes from a guy whose favorite subject is history) was 1: to help me get a girlfriend (preferably one of the hot cheerleaders) and 2. get his bladder fixed or go to the doctor or something. But how do you tell the holder of the second best roommate in history award that there is clearly something wrong with his bladder without sounding like some kind of piss-smeller-pervert-stalker-guy? That was a problem I need to solve. But first I needed to read  definite integrals, so that was what I did.

That was Five minutes of Andrew Smith's Life