© 1999 Jamie Zawinski <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Some of the usual suspects and I were leaving the indoor rock-climbing gym, and while we were waiting for everyone to gather their things, a few of us were chatting with one of the staff. We had noticed that they were closing early today for some reason, and asked why.
``We're closing at 6 and then a whole troop of girl scouts are coming in. They rented the whole place; apparently there are so many of them that we need ten staffers here!''
Then he added, ``I hope they bring cookies. Cause, you know, girl scouts are sweet and all, but...''
I said, ``It's all about the cookies.''
He nodded. ``It's all about the cookies.''
And so, a few minutes later, we were heading for the door, and as we were walking out, what did I notice lying right there in the middle of the floor but a soiled condom!
I just about lost it. This was the funniest damned thing I had seen in weeks. How did it get there? Where, in this gym full of wide open spaces, could someone have been having sex? Was there some rock-climbing use for condoms of which I was previously unaware? If so, then what was that on the inside? It sure looked, uh, soiled.
So I tried to stop laughing and hurry my friends along so that nobody would see us busting a gut in proximity to the item in question.
Because if I were in some way responsible for it being removed before the girl scouts arrived, I could never forgive myself.