Colin - Where art thou?

I don't understand a lot of things, I take a passing interest in a lot of things, but rarely do I actually understand them. This provides opportunities and embarrassment in equal doses, a kind of equilibrium of sustained interest and abject humiliation. I can broach many varied subjects, but not for long.
"Did you hear they've found vast quantities of water on the Moon?" I'll enquire, perhaps a little smugly as if to say "I've read the science section of the newspaper, have you?". The conversation typically goes one of two ways, both with the same outcome.
1) "Yes, though the water is not present in any pools as such, rather it's retained within the lunar soil".
2) "No, what does that mean?"
No matter whether the conversation follows the first or second path, my response is the same. A sort of shrug and nervous giggle, a hybrid expression of embarrassment and nervous energy. Probably a bi-product of our evolutionary past, but I don't know enough about evolution to begin to explain it.

Something else that I struggle with is making decisions, ideally I would have a personal advisor that would make decisions for me. Not necessarily sensible decisions though. I'd like it if they were unlikely to kill me, but still helped make my life a bit more exciting or noteworthy. Not limiting myself to adventure and thrill seeking however, I'd want my advisor (whom I shall call Colin) to offer sage advice on occasions that require clear, fast and concise choices. It would also be preferable for Colin to be able to read my thoughts and communicate telepathically. I know this is asking quite a lot, but it would prevent me from saying things that a neutral bystander would undoubtedly suggest I didn't. This would have been particularly useful when a colleague of mine, one that I'd recently won a 5 a side football tournament with, entered a packed elevator and asked me if I'd "been polishing my trophy".

However even if I did have Colin, chosen specifically for his penchant for relatively safe excitement and telepathic abilities, he wouldn't have been able to help me in a moment of social confusion and awkwardness that happened the other day. There would be some things I'd have to do alone, like go to the toilet. Besides, what could possibly happen in a toilet that required advice, let alone an advisor? I'm not that inept that I require somebody to tell me whether to flush or not. Alas, sometimes even the most seemingly innocuous of situations throw up danger, or at the very least the need to make a quick, sharp and effective decision.

Picture if you will, actually it's probably best if you don't, I am at work and I receive the "call to nature" while sitting at my desk. Eagerly anticipating any sort of break from the tedium of updating spreadsheets, even the process of evacuating my waste, I happily whistle and strut my way to the bathroom, not too much of a strut though as that might hasten the arrival of Mr Stinky. "Ah" I think, pleased with my timing "two cubicles to choose from." Decision 1: Far left cubicle or 2nd one in. Far left would seem the obvious choice, only one neighbour. But far left is more popular than 2nd one in and therefore has more "traffic" through it. I could have pondered this for longer, but I didn't want to appear to be some sort of toilet lurker. 2nd one in it is.
Step one involves a survey of the cubicle for signs of urine splashed floors or on some as yet inexplicable occasions, faecal footprints. Check passed. Step 2, lift the lid. Hopefully not on Pandora's box, but on a relatively clean looking porcelain receptacle. This is the most dangerous check, words don't do justice to the abject horror of discovering somebody's shame peeping up at you that wont flush, how is closing the lid helping anyone aside from building up suspense? Anyway, step 2 passed. Lets be honest, I'm not looking for something to eat my dinner off, but it was certainly acceptable enough to sh*t in to.

At this point I'm concerned that I might appear to be some sort of obsessive compulsive toilet fairy that will only poo if his toilet has a heated seat and pictures of unicorns on the walls. That's not the case, I've seen some things in my life I can tell you, notably in a public toilet around the back of a service station in Malaysia, but that's for another day and possibly a less public forum.

Anyway, the final preparatory step is simply to wipe errant pubic hair from the seat with some toilet paper which serves the additional purpose of providing a cushion to prevent any potential splash back. Splash back can be uncomfortable and I prefer for other toilet goers not to be able to determine at what phase of proceedings I'm at simply by listening. Disaster averted. There's no paper in this one. That could have led to a particularly nasty and embarrassing situation so I am thankful this time that I have been conscientious in my approach.
This sorts out the solution to my first decision anyway, 2nd one in was never a goer. What was I thinking? And lo and behold, there are only minor drops of urine on the floor of far left. Nothing a good wipe with some paper won't fix, which is in plentiful abundance. like some sort of toilet paper wonder land.
Let battle commence! Things are going well, I wont bore you with the details, when the door to the bathroom opens. Somebody else taking a welcome reprieve from the call of emails or balance sheets. I know that sound. That's 2nd cubicle in's door opening, closing and locking. Hmm, that sounds a lot like a belt being unfastened and trousers lowered to the floor. Funny, I haven't heard the toilet paper being checked, but I suppose some people aren't as careful as….oh Christ.
This guy doesn't muck around, all sorts of noises and indicators that things are well underway. Poor bastard, here I am with enough toilet paper to make a playground for a million golden retriever puppies and he's stuck in there with little more than a tiny piece of cardboard, more harsh than a piece of sandpaper and about as useful as a umbrella in an earthquake.
Damn it Colin, where are you when I need you. The way I see it, I've got three choices. Pretend to be ignorant and leave, knock on the wall and ask if everything is okay or feed some paper under the wall voluntarily like a guardian angel. Option 2 seems like a bad one, I've got a distinctive accent and people could come to know me as the guy that asks people if they want a hand with anything in the toilet. No, I'll not be that guy.
Option 3 sounds friendly enough. But what if he takes my friendly assistance as some sort of weird insult or worse, attempted come on, and leaves even before finding out that he's paperless.
Option 1 is cowardly, involving least personal risk.
I'm not proud to say that I chose option 1 and having finished my own business, promptly walked out and washed my hands, seemingly oblivious to the fate of the man to my whom only I could help. I left him there, about to realise the most awful of situations and I did nothing. I don't know who he was, whether he ever made it out, how this affected his life. I know that had the roles been reversed, I would have been eternally grateful for a rolled up handful of 2-ply. I probably would have written a letter to the newspaper, praising the generosity and thoughtfulness of a stranger.
As it is, I live in my secret shame filled world, waking in cold fits of guilt at 2 in the morning, even now some weeks on.
I'm curious, would you have done any different? What would Colin have suggested via ESP? I could have blamed him if things turned sour. Was there an option 4? Unfortunately like so many other things in life, we shall never know the answer.