As luck would have it, Genevieve is in the lady's room, running water over her hands. It's luke warm and would taste like iron if she tried to taste it, which she would not. Hands wet and dripping she tries the soap dispenser to the left, and comes up empty. Then she tries the soap dispenser on the right, still empty.

Her hair, by this point, is loosening and falling in front of her eyes, the shining strands an irritant and a veil. Futilely, she blows at one, and then goes to the paper towel dispenser, instead: shockingly, it's empty. There are a number of crumpled paper towels strewn around the countertop, but they've all been used, and . . .

By this time, the five minutes have passed, and nobody in the cafeteria steps forward to say V? I know V! I'll take the box right to her!

. . . eventually, V does leave the restroom. But she doesn't notice a large white box, and although she does glance around, once, as if looking for somebody (somebody was looking for me?), she doesn't stop to linger in the cafeteria any longer. It's to her room she goes. . .

And the sender of the box can mark down:
Attempt one, FAILURE!