The toilets on the floor where I work flush... violently.
Really violently. So violently, in fact, that if, during the act of flushing, your shoe fell off (because there's no woman alive who flushes public toilets with her hands), it would be GONE in an instant.
And if, by reflex, you tried to catch the shoe before it went down and you slipped, you'd lose the arm too. Amputation by toilet. Nobody talks about the toll it takes on us as a nation.
No toilet needs to flush so hard that there are, uh, splashes.
Who needs that kind of stress?
I guess maybe I just have weird potty phobias. Not germ phobias, really; that's what Purell is for. But between the "Please Keep Door Closed to Prevent BEAR ENTRY" sign in Lake Tahoe and the fact that I live in Colorado, where shit like this happens much more often than you'd think, I'm sprouting new phobias every day.
And it all just brings me one step closer to being the housebound crazy cat lady whose house gets egged every Halloween.
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