Peek into my life just a bit
My company is in a building from circa god-knows-when, the early 1900s? 1930s? Super thin paned windows, electrical and heating ducts strapped right on top of the cement ceilings and walls. And there’s one bathroom for each gender on each floor.
In the ladies room, there are only two stalls. Normally, as a not-differently-abled person, I do not like to use the handicapped stall, since it should be available for those handicapable individuals it was designed for. BUT! In this particular bathroom, the “regular” stall kind of sucks because the toilet paper holder is all jammed up and you have to use both hands to turn the roll, which takes forever and you start going crazy and just tearing off one sheet at a time and making a stack of single sheets on your knee until you have critical mass for wiping, which takes forever. AND! The latch to that stall was broken, so Charlene our handy and capable office manager just fucking drilled a latch straight into the sheet metal so we could pee without needing to have one arm outstretched holding the stall door shut. But now the screw is sort of loose in the bracket, so as you are laboring like Sisyphus with your toilet paper square stack, you have to see the sad, coming-out screw hanging there at a downwards angle. It’s just depressing.
As a result, I tend to use the other stall, the stall for the physically challenged. Unfortunately, for most of the populace the handicapped stall is the POOPING stall, and upon entering I am too-often reminded of its status as such. Despite the toilet paper that rolls freely and cheerfully into my hands, despite a door that latches securely with its original hardware, I can never have truly fond feelings for that handicapable stall. The end.