Call it what you will….the privy, the latrine, the head, the can , the john, or the little shack out back, rich or poor, black or white (or blue in the face), I mean we all gotta go, right? Before we get too far here in my little dissertation on semi-public restrooms and my pet peeves associated with them, be forewarned, some potty humor may creep into this one. When I say "semi public", I am speaking here of the workplace and their porcelain throne emporiums. And my beef is really not so much with the rooms per se, as with the client base they cater to. In other words people can just be pigs! All you need to do to find out how many adult professionals still go through life thinking their mother is right behind them with a mop and a waste basket and a vacuum and a dish towel, is come to my office for a day, and hang around the office fridge, coffee bar, and the men's room. (I would like after reading this, to hear from some of you as to whether the ladies' rooms compare). I do still respect the "Ladies" sign on the door, and never, never go in there, except maybe late at night to change the film in the camera......JUST KIDDING! (it's digital).

NO, seriously now, I think I might have blogged once before about a similar subject or the exceedingly poor throne to hiney ratio at my last office, and how in a twelve story office building, after I had duck walked from floor to floor, and finally found a handicapped stall that I honestly made it into with mere seconds to spare, when I exited the stall, the one and only scooter bound person in the building, like Murphy's Law, is sitting outside the door staring at me with a look on his face like a kicked puppy as I walked by.