There is a big Saint Patrick's Day party happening at my house. It's being put on by one of my room-mates, and I don't know anyone here. Most of the guests are too far removed from my social scene for me to relate with, so I find myself hiding out in the empty rooms of the house, watching the crowds of bleached women and thick-necked men from a safe distance.

Soon even these rooms begin to fill up, so I retreat to the bathroom. I take an unnecessarily long bowel-movement and sit on the toilet for another ten minutes, reading a stuffy Canadian magazine until my legs fall asleep.

When I finally get up and decide to face the crowds again, I pause in front of the light switch. On a childish whim, I flick off the lights, just to see how dark it gets. There are no windows, and the crack under the door is blocked by the thick carpet outside.

It gets very, very dark.

Unprepared for this uncomfortably total blackness, I quickly reach for the light switch, but I touch only smooth drywall. My hand can't seem to find the switch in the dark. I put both hands against the wall and feel around, but find nothing.
  The light switch is gone.
In a sudden jolt of panic I reach for the doorknob to run out of here and embarrass myself in front of all the party guests...but I can't find the doorknob. My hands run all around the door, feeling the rough woodgrain, but where the knob should be, there is just more wood.