Don't Mess with Texas
After a week of horror in multiple bathrooms on multiple floors in the historical building in which I work, it's like the ABC Nightly News knew what I needed. Not to get graphic, but what the fuck, ladies? Really, I mean, what the fuck? Oft times I've wanted to leave ALL CAPS letters on the bathroom walls, printed of course, and taped up--not scrawled in permanent marker like these nasty bitches deserve--real classy like, honestly. The note would say something along the lines of "WHORES OF BABYLON, Shame on you and your mothers for not potty training you properly. Clean up after yourselves, you dirty, nasty bitches. Thanks!"
So, shuddering with the memories of the past week, it was such a pleasure to watch the last little story, following all of the "real" news about elections, convictions of CIA operatives, serial killers, etc., about a rest stop chain of gas stations in Texas called Buc-ee's. You can watch a video about the store itself (gourmet food, big gulps, pickled quail eggs, the wall of drinks!) but the real magic is found in the bathrooms. There's an attendant in there, constantly cleaning. The bathrooms are huge, with a bank of full stalls, floor to ceiling doors, roomy and sparkling. Everything is automatic--no touching of faucet handles, paper towel dispensers, door handles. SPARKLE SPARKLE. It was so shiny and clean.
Sigh.
I'm sure people go in there to make number 1, number 2, and even the dreaded number 3, but I imagine there's a magical mist of deodorizer that whisks it all away after every flush. I'll probably dream about the clean, shining stalls of Buc-ee's tonight. All the while knowing I'm turning into this guy:
Or maybe this guy:
So, shuddering with the memories of the past week, it was such a pleasure to watch the last little story, following all of the "real" news about elections, convictions of CIA operatives, serial killers, etc., about a rest stop chain of gas stations in Texas called Buc-ee's. You can watch a video about the store itself (gourmet food, big gulps, pickled quail eggs, the wall of drinks!) but the real magic is found in the bathrooms. There's an attendant in there, constantly cleaning. The bathrooms are huge, with a bank of full stalls, floor to ceiling doors, roomy and sparkling. Everything is automatic--no touching of faucet handles, paper towel dispensers, door handles. SPARKLE SPARKLE. It was so shiny and clean.
Sigh.
I'm sure people go in there to make number 1, number 2, and even the dreaded number 3, but I imagine there's a magical mist of deodorizer that whisks it all away after every flush. I'll probably dream about the clean, shining stalls of Buc-ee's tonight. All the while knowing I'm turning into this guy:
Or maybe this guy:
posted by Shiny at 7:17 PM
2 Comments:
44.5% of Americans are morons.
44.5% of Americans were raised by wolves.
10% of Americans are morons who were raised by wolves.
These are real statistics.
No no no. 65% of all humans are idiots. 30% are morons. 4% are just barely hanging on to their sanity. And the last 1% is everyone who is actually normal although what that could actually be qualified as is beyond me. And that's the truth. The wild and crazy grey haired woman from Kansas.
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