Bathrooms Disgust Me
I have to frequent the women’s restroom on a daily basis here at work to check on things. Please, paint me green with envy. I think women have it made when it comes to most public restrooms. At least here at work, there is a nice soft lighting, which gives me the appearance that I’m at least 5 years younger. Everything is clean. Let me emphasize that again, everything is clean. There are no paper towels on the ground or on the counter. There isn’t any graffiti on the walls. Shit stains are practically non-existent. There aren’t pee-dribbles on the ground. Most of all, the women’s restroom doesn’t have the acrid odor of moldy piss that envelopes you as you enter. Worst of all, I hate having to relieve myself in a urinal that is backed up or hasn’t been flushed in a fortnight. It’s like peeing into a Big Gulp from 7-11, and any risk of splash-back will give me several diseases and ailments including, but not limited to, diabetes, bronchitis, hepatitis, toothaches, arthritis, and leprosy. However, in the heaven that is the women’s room, you have angels that hand you embroidered towels to dry your hands, and when you’re sitting on the toilet, Salt n’ Pepa’s Push It plays in the background as moral support. I goddamn hate the men’s restroom.
