That's the message I got yesterday when some woman tore down one of the last two bathroom etiquette tips signs from the stalls. And I'm going to have to beg to differ here, lady.
Things were okay for the first couple of days after the signs were posted, even given the grumbling about where one can and cannot use her phone and the one sign that was moved to the front of the stall door, and upon which someone had scrawled in red pen, "This one is broken."
However, it seemed as if that penultimate sign was holding together the fabric of bathroom decency. By early afternoon, there were used paper towels on the floor around the three trash bins, an enormous wad of toilet paper on the floor of one of the stalls that may or may not have been partially used, AND! someone had pulled one of the metal feminine hygiene disposal units off the wall of the stall and it was on the floor. There was, of course, a tampon wrapper on the floor next to it, because as I'm sure you're already aware, once you don't have to move a lid or a door, it's so much more difficult for you to actually dispose of your tampon wrapper properly.
I wanted to scream, y'all. I wanted to write "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU DISGUSTING TWATS?" in lipstick on the mirror. I just don't fucking understand it at all. It makes me want to cry. It also makes me want to fight some bitches.
I hate people so fucking much.
The only thing keeping me from losing it today (after all, I can't go to the bathroom to cry anymore) is my rediscovery of sorts, of Gomez. Now, it's not like I'd forgotten about them or anything. But it had been quite a while since I sat down and listened to an album until I put How We Operate back on my iPod over the weekend. God, I fucking love them so much. I'm pretty sure I'll get through the day if I put "See The World" and "How We Operate" on repeat.
(Check back tonight for a tasty Gomez treat.) And here it is! Yes, it's late. Sorry. Gomez, How We Operate.