I don’t really know why, but I have always had this weird neurosis about public and work rest rooms. Not really in that I love to unload in them, but it’s more of an observational hang-up I have, I guess. You can tell a lot about a place by the rest rooms. (Which is why Target > Walmart.)
I especially like truck stop rest rooms because you never know what kind of savory souls you’ll run into there. Plus, pratfalls abound.
At my last job, the inside of each stall had bright pink notices reminding every bleeding female to deposit their menstrual armor in the provided “recepticles.” Every night, I considered taking a Sharpie and correcting the spelling. Maybe dotting the “i” with an ovary.
None were worse than the company I worked from 2006-2008, though. Just, ew.
I went from this, to this:
I can like that.