Big Disasters, Little Miracles

So I'm at my 7AM meeting today.  It was a very good meeting - a feisty friend of mine kicked things and then called on people who don't often talk instead of letting the aggressive loudmouths who think their message just HAS to be heard fall all over each other clamoring to be heard and I'm looking at YOU, Seaweed.

I'm slightly distracted by the fact that I have an appointment to have a tire repaired on my Very Expensive Car.  I ran over a screw.  I don't know where all of these screws are coming from.  I'm starting to think that some shadowy character knows my routine and is scattering construction debris on the roads that I normally use.  I'm slightly miffed by the fact that I recently replaced all of my Very Expensive Tires due to normal wear and tear, ran over a screw almost immediately and had to re-replace one of the tires which survived a few months before I ran over another screw - or maybe it was the same screw, what do I know?  I suspected this event would result in a re-re-replacement of the tire.  My car has Run Flat tires or what we in the business call Tires That Can't Be Repaired.  Personally I'd rather have tires that go flat when they ingest screws but then can be repaired.

The meeting finishes up and I head down to take a walk on the beach before my mid-morning car appointment.  I get a hundred yards or so before popping into a public restroom that mostly serves as sleeping pod for our local homeless population.  My timing is good - the stall has just been cleaned.  I put down the lid , unfasten my trousers, and sit down . . . on a nice, warm seat.  I mean, it was nice.  It was luxurious.  I felt pampered.

"WTF?" I thought.  "Have they installed some of those new hi-tech toilets that vibrate and massage your rear and cleanse any unpleasantness with a stream of soothing water before gently swapping your posterior with gardenia-scented toilet water?"  It seemed an extravagance for a beach toilet but I wouldn't put it past the public works folks here in Vacation City.  We know how to party.

Turns out, after some sleuthing, that the source of the toasty toilet seat was the morning sun, pouring through the open door and right onto the future throne of one Little Stevie Seaweed.  I took it.  Oh, yes, I did.

Tire was ruined.  Still enjoyed the pooping.