DROP
THE SOAP

I’ve never been to prison.

Never showered in prison.

Never had to worry about dropping a bar of soap in prison.

And yet somehow I know the fucking rule.

Don’t drop the soap.

How do I know that?

Seriously.

At some point in my life, somebody taught me that if you’re a man in prison, you hold onto that soap like your fucking life depends on it.

Films. TV. Comedy. Other men. Who knows.

Nobody ever sat me down and explained it.

I just know.

Except I was thinking about it and thought —

What if I wanted to drop the soap?

Because that’s a completely different story, isn’t it?

Maybe I’ve seen who’s standing behind me.

Maybe I’ve assessed the situation.

Maybe that soap has suddenly become the slipperiest fucking object known to man.

And now I’m thinking we’ve spent decades looking at this entirely from the wrong perspective.

Obviously, the joke itself comes from somewhere dark. We’re talking about prison rape being turned into a running gag. That’s pretty fucked up when you actually stop and think about it.

But it’s also strange how deeply the phrase has entered our culture.

I’ve never been to prison.

I don’t plan on going.

Yet apparently I’ve arrived already knowing the shower etiquette.

So I’ve decided I’m changing the rule.

Don’t drop the soap?

Depends who’s in the shower.

Because sometimes,

you might want to
drop the soap.