Either I'm toting an oversized keyring with the DNA of every customer since 1993, or I'm attempting to hold a six digit combination of numbers and letters in my short term memory by chanting my way to the bathroom. Sometimes I find myself wandering the aisles trying to track down an employee and beg for entry with promises of dropping cash if I could just, please, be let into the throne room. By the time I'm inside the door, any sense of relief I anticipated is smothered by the stench of all the weary travelers who went before. I can't help but wonder, how does one manage this feat of endurance only to lose all virtue at the finish line? You made it this far, and now you are wiping literal shit on the walls? It is like a museum of bodily functions in here. You maintained social convention long enough to appropriately gain access to the bathroom, only to forget that a real human person will have to use this space after you? And let's not forget the poor soul who will have to clean up the mess. A truly unsung hero.
Laments on the Public Bathroom
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