I recently found an unopened jar of suppositories in my new house.

They were hidden in the depths of my bathroom pantry, left behind by former tenants who bought the Fleet- brand glycerin suppositories, shelved them and, luckily, never needed to open the jar.

So there they sat until yesterday when my roommate came across the jar and disturbed their slumber.

Now they sit on my desk, causing me anxiety.

What do I do with 50 “adult” suppositories?

Maybe I should keep them around for casual – hopefully occasional – usage.

According to the jar, the Fleet-brand suppositories provide “fast, gentle, effective relief.

Fleet touts itself as the “most trusted name in laxatives.”

I do not generally experience “situations” that would require the use of any type of suppository, but they do “generally produce a bowel movement in 15 minutes to one hour.”

A bit vague, but when I happen to be constipated I do not want to wait for the Immodium A-D to kick in. I want to address the problem at the source, I think, and a glycerin suppository is just the way one could go about doing that.

My worries, in part, stem from the directions, which read, “Insert suppository well up into rectum.”

Not being wholly familiar with inserting things there, I am worried about the actual distance of “well up.” Are we talking finger length? Can we have some actual distance definition?

I would be afraid of not pushing the thing far enough, out of said anxiety, and then what do I do when I am trying to get on with my day and the shallowness of the suppository’s placement causes it to be dislodged and float freely amongst my nether regions?

What am I supposed to do with the somewhat used suppository then? Should I be expected to put it back in place, or do I discard it and reach for a new one, attempting to learn from my earlier placement mistakes?

All of this suppository worry has led me to think about other uses for that jar of greasy, translucent cones.

My house on Highland Avenue is subdivided several different ways. As a result, there is a central mailbox system on the front porch and each respective apartment has an individual lockbox for their postal articles.

As a sign of goodwill to my neighbors, I think it a might be a kind gesture to set the jar of suppositories atop the mailbox unit. Neighbors experiencing an unexpected bout of constipation could thus seek rectum relief as they pick up the day’s mail. Double score.

A greedy nieghbor could ruin my communal goodwill by swiping the jar of suppositories, though. Then everyone loses, except of course the thief who will have his constipation needs addressed for quite sometime.

Instead of kindness, maybe the focus should fall on humiliation. Those who throw house parties should beware. Fleet-brand suppositories could turn up at your packed soiree; jar open, sitting prominently on the sink. Perhaps a few glycerin inserts will be scattered about for extra effect. There will be many a muted giggle as individuals file in and out of your lavatory, laughing at a supposed constipated soul who just might be carrying a suppository in their system at that very moment.

Oh, I guess the possibilities are endless for Fleet’s constipation cure-all. The seemingly moldable suppository could make for my first foray into conceptual sculpture production. I will press those gelatin-like cones into one and mold them to the likeness of Richard Dreyfuss or maybe an abstract protest against current U.S. policy in Cuba.

In thinking of my colleauges, many a Lantern editor could be well-served to have an emergency suppository within quick grasp. I could be the hero of the newsroom. Hooray.

For now, though, I think the jar will be best suited to rest upon my desk, and I will just play the part of provider. Advice for use is not for the faint of heart, nor the inexperienced, both of which I could be labeled.

Ian James is a senior in journalism with a specialization in absurdity. He can be reached for comment at [email protected].