Dear Toilet, I know you probably don’t like your job all that much. I understand, because I’m not always so keen on mine either. Some days it’s busy and things can get kinda shitty. And you have to deal with the lady cops from the NYPD office on our floor. I couldn’t do that. I’m lucky I can manage to use the bathroom I’m obligated to share with them. For people who are licensed to use firearms, they have shockingly bad aim, especially for females. You work hard, toilet, but we need to discuss your attitude. I think you have an anger management problem.
My complaint is that you flush with hair-trigger sensitivity at a volume and force rivaling Niagara Falls. I do my best to use one of the other two stalls, but when I’m in a pinch, we need to work together. Given the devastation the lady cops leave in their wake after their lunch break, I need to be able to hold a high hover for at least 15 seconds without setting you off. Is that too much to ask? Why can't you be like your comrades over at the airport? Don’t get me wrong, toilet, I appreciate what you do for me, but I just can’t touch skin to seat in order to block your sensor. I’ve tried to double-cover you and drape you in paper, but you gobble them down the chute before I’m able to attend to my urges. Even the slightest turn of my body or a shadow passing your electronic eye causes you to react unpredictably. Toilet, I am not a contortionist, so you need to learn to control yourself and stop being so sensitive.
But the worst infraction is when you flush with fierce velocity while I’m mid-hover. I cannot abide this type of treatment any longer. I have literally leaped out of the way of your foul plume of spray. Believe me, this is awkward. In summation, if you can find it in your mechanical inner workings to tone down the aggression when I enter the stall, I would truly appreciate it. In return, I promise to be a sweetie and wipe the seatie.
Cheers,
The Karma Cycle
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