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2004-05-03 - 4:23 p.m.

At work, periodically, one of my coworkers dissappears from the office for about fifteen minutes. We are not bound by a timeclock, not watched by hawk like supervisors, so these kind of quick exits are often made; for a cigarette, for some air, for a bank translation. So long as all the stacks of paperwork are filled out by the end of the day, cut and finished, then no one cares to ask questions.

It was only recently I discovered the reason for his constitutionals.

The upstairs bathroom is, apparently, amazing.

Our in-office bathroom comes double-stalled, and double urinaled, with two sinks, both hand towels and a air-dryer, which is admittedly far to close to the sinks, so it jumps to life during quiet wash time. It's clean, without graffitti, and to my eyes, a perfectly good place to deficate.

"I'll take a piss there but when I need to do some work..."

I've lived in New York for two years, the entirity of which I have spent in Brooklyn. My bathrooms have not exactly been the high life. My toilet water now is blue. I'm not an overly clean man, this is just an action I've taken to keep it from being brown. I've regularly sat on slowly corroding toilets that look like they've only recently been unearthed my a Mayan temple excavation. My ass has recieved extremely little in the way of pampering.

This brings me to my question of the moment: I do understand that men, in general spend more time in the bathroom than they do almost any place else. It is a sacred place, where we are at peace, alone with a hefty amount of reading materal, our thoughts, and our own stench. It is as close as the American male comes to a Zen Garden.

That said, I fail to understand the superiority of one toliet to another. Any waste disposal unity that doesn't give me Herpes is basically fine by me. The flusher could be dimond studded and the bowl made of stainless steel, it doesn't change the fact that I'm leaving my poo in it.

I suppose a leather or velvet seat might be nice, but eventually someone's going to miss, and have you ever tired to wash crap out of italian leather? There's probably a reason for that.

In fact, I have trouble imagining any amenity that might add to the luxury of that particular activity, with the possible inclusion of an ashtray. Smoking does tend to make the whole process a little bit more...prompt.

This addition did have a very positive impact on the bathroom in Las Vegas casinos. They also included a small love seat and two chairs surrounding a coffee table, in a lounge like area, I never saw used. It is against all male wisdom to hang in the bathroom. Interestingly enough, bathrooms were the only rooms in Vegas that haven't yet been infiltrated by slot machines. I'm sure that's already being fixed. Within the next generation I'm sure you'll be able to play keno while cleaning out your pipes.

As it stands, until the eventual additions of ashtrays, gambling, possibly in small in-stall bar, or erotically angled beday, your average every-day porcilan goddess will bring warmth to my heart and bowels.

Hearing of my conservative decition, my co-worker dropped his jaw and pleaded...

"You've got to try this shit, man."

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