What better way to kick off a new blog than by starting at the bottom? Actually, I’m aiming even lower, toward that which the bottom often sits atop. Yes, this observation with no telescope is about toilet seats.
If you’re lucky, you’ve always been privy to them. If you’re obsessed, you’ve probably been to San Antonio, Texas, to visit the art museum devoted to them.
Pull up a seat and tell me about your favorites. Send a photo of yourself wearing one like a horse collar — I’m always looking for artwork. I might even put you inside a potty-seat frame like this one!
The US Department of Defense was once lambasted for spending $640 apiece on toilet seats. And that wasn’t even for the newfangled heated Japanese models with hydraulic seats, remote controls, automatic deodorizers, warm-air dryers and — best of all — built-in bidets. Even Sarah Palin would have to call those a “wash.”
Today’s observation, however cheap, deals only with the white plastic seats that grace the two toilets in the men’s room outside my employer’s suite of offices.
Because Atlanta traffic is so unpredictable, you know that if you leave work at the end of the day without paying a visit to the local urinoir, urintrouble.
What’s interesting about my own evening pit stops, however, is that on unoccupied afternoons, both stall doors invariably stand wide open, revealing the toilet seat on the left to be up and the toilet seat on the right to be down. And they have been left that way every day for years.
Do the same creatures of habit precede me to the men’s room each day and use the same stalls for the same purposes every time?
If I reverse the seat positions from up-and-down to down-and-up, will I open a wormhole from Atlanta to San Antonio? Worse, would I inadvertently cause a butterfly effect wherein Sarah Palin could be elected president of something more than the board of directors of Barney Smith's Toilet Seat Art Museum?
I believe I’ll feel safer if I just leave each seat as(s) is.
No comments:
Post a Comment