behind closed doors

i'm a closet alcoholic,
but a select few know.
so maybe that makes me a laundry-room alcoholic.
i left my shot glass in my backpack once,
and it tumbled onto the floor in pre-calculus.
"that is highly illegal!" mr. walker shouted.
i froze, my glass making circles on the tile squares.
then i realized that he was addressing an error
made by jacob in a square root equation.
i retrieved my treasure in relief.
upon my return home, my dryer inquired,

"vodka?"