That when you’ve come back from your morning run, and are taking a shower in the facilities provided, the water pressure from the shower head decreases when someone using the same facilities set for other reasons, em: Flushes.
I know, I shouldn’t be disconcerted: Fresh water, all the way ’round. There’s only so much of it. More required over here means less to be had over there. But still.
It doesn’t seem right.
When I was a midshipman, we went one summer to Quantico, Virginia, where Marine officers are tenderly brought to full flower in a process roughly analgous to the face-hugger/chest buster phenomenon made so popular in the “Alien” movie trilogy.
In the student barracks, not only did the cold water cut out entirely whenever someone in the western hemisphere “sent the army home,” the hot water, as though waiting for just such an opportunity, jetted out with vicious abandon. Strangely enough, in the instant just before the boiling water leapt out to wreak its savageries upon your exposed flesh, it was preceded by a tiny slug of cold water. In time, we mids came to understand what this was: All a part of the Marine Officer training program. A combat reactions course, if you will. The price of unbroiled skin was eternal vigilance.
And quick reflexes.
There’s no real point to all this. Just small stuff.