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Actually, I love their bathroom stalls.
You never see such an individual enter an equipped bathroom, so it’s always available to you. Have you ever used one? Go ahead, try it!
The typical stall? It’s like a disgusting trap from one of the Saw movies. You carefully sidle your way in because the space is so narrow that your elbows are bumping against the heavily vandalized walls, but once you close the door you realize that there’s no way your body will fit through that door again unless you stand on the seat and swing the door open before jumping to freedom.
On top of that, you bend over slightly and squint to examine the seat because the lighting is dimmer than an Amish household, even though you know there’s inevitably going be poo caked on it somewhere as it drips with what I am hoping is only urine. You take up the cardboard-soft toilet paper in hand and begin a project of epic proportions before slathering your butt with that hand sanitizer gel.
By this point you’ve probably missed the chance to actually use the stall as you’ve been preparing it for the past twenty minutes. All of your business is probably already in your pants.
So why do I love handicapped stalls so much? Well, as I said, just try it! The moment you cross the threshold the bathroom seems to brighten as you marvel at the sheer amount of square footage available. I don’t know about you, but I love to move around a lot when I’m making twosies. Do a seated jig, dance the YMCA—there just isn’t that kind of room in a regular stall. I mean, you could probably fit an entire other person in there with you, maybe a motivation coach to cheer you on.
The seat is already clean, and the area looks immaculate, so you can sit right down without fear of contracting some crazy strain of poo-borne Hepatitis. As your coach cheers you on, “Go! Go! Drop that deuce!” you’ll finally understand why handicapped stalls are so great.
Make sure to wash your hands.
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