My Face In The Tile On The Floor

Was it real or a figment of an overactive imagination already on drugs? I saw my face in the tile on the floor. I’ve never even seen my face in a puffy white cloud. Ever. But there it was. Me, on the floor in the bathroom.

The past few months haven’t been pleasant or comfortable. Thank God for the ability of the human body to remain unconscious for days and weeks at a time.

Yesterday, I couldn’t sleep, and with a little help I could move about the house. One early morning destination was the bathroom.

While sitting with my head in my hands, looking down on the bathroom floor, and wondering why life is full of such misery for some, none for others, and why Nancy Grace has her own TV show, it struck me.

Me was looking back at me. Or, is it “I”?

Maybe that’s why I never noticed it before. There in the tile at my feet was an image of me looking back at me. It was as clear as day and more obvious than George Bush’s Mission From God™.

My father laid the marble tile in the house many, many years ago. Perhaps a nearly drug-induced coma with occasional bathroom privileges is capable of visions not always available to mortal man.

Reagardless, that’s me looking up at me. A few swirls of the marble (I think it was marble, maybe it’s plastic, or maybe my father spilled some paint) look just like me. Actually, it’s just like the photo in the top of the home page of the Mac360 site. I’m not the blonde.

Is it a sign from God? Are my days truly numbered or is this just the first step at immortality?

Tera Patricks’ face permanently inscribed in the swirl of marble tile in her father’s bathroom—that’s got to be worth something. There’ll be hundreds of people lining up at the door before noon.

We’ll be rich just selling little plastic stand up dolls of Tera for car dashboards.

Or not. American medicine has the ability to let a mind wander and mine had wandered long enough. Still, the thought of fame and glory did occur to me, though my image in a marble bathroom tile seemed unlikely to build much of a fortune.

Perhaps if I looked around the bathroom or out on the back patio (same tile; thanks, dad) I could find an image embedded in the tile that would fetch more visitors willing to part with their money.

Remarkably, I found another swirl in the corner of the bathroom that looked exactly like Peter Boyle of Everybody Loves Raymond, and Young Frankenstein.

No, that wouldn’t bring in the crowds, regardless of how accurate the likeness.

Wait a minute. Boyle is a dead ringer for Miicrosoft’s CEO, Steve Ballmer. Would people line up and pay to see a likeness of Steve Ballmer in the tile of my father’s bathroom?

A few of the more geekier, Microsofties, perhaps. And Fox News, but not CNN. We need numbers. A recurriing revenue stream of numbers.

If millions of people in Mexico can be attracted to a grilled cheese sandwich with Jesus’ image in the toast, why not a more permanent image from my father’s bathroom tile?

No, if my father’s bathroom tile is to be of value to humanity it needs an image of someone who will attract the great unwashed masses willing to travel far and pay for the privilege of viewing Floor Tile Annointed by God™.

Dad, come in here. I need you to help me find something…”