A few minutes ago I was in the hall outside the Journal office. There is a table in the hall. On the table was a walkie talkie. RCSAC-29 was stenciled on the side of the walkie talkie, which I assume stands for Rutgers-Camden Student Activities Center.

I looked around and no one was in the hall, at least no one to whom this piece of equipment could have belonged. I picked it up and turned up the volume.

"Two-Nine. Two-Nine. Do you copy?" It squaked. There was a long silence. It seemed obvious that I was holding Two-Nine's walkie talkie. Were was Two-Nine? I wanted to see how this played out.

"Two-Nine?" the squaking continued. Two-Nine?... You there?... Oh for fuck sake!... Jim? I'm not playing around."

I looked around and decided it had to be done. I butched up my voice and said, "this is Two-Nine." I offered this timidly into the walkie talkie. "I hear you."

"Where the fuck you been, Two-Nine?"

I had to think fast. "I had shellfish for lunch. I think they gave me the shits."

"We been calling your ass for an hour."

"I had really bad shits." I had to bite the heel of my hand to keep from laughing. I said "shits!" Twice!

"Yeah, well the stink is on bucko."

"I don't quite copy," I said. "Which stink is that?"

"Armitage Hall. Completely out of paper products. Completely. Your ass is grass if you don't get some TP down there right away. You know how the Provost is about his Charmin."

"I'm on it," I enthused. "Quilted comfort is on the way."

"See to it, Two-Nine."

I put the walkie talkie down and walked away from the toilet paper problem. I'm hilarious!

Posted at 4:19 p.m.

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