Like Dane Cook keenly observed, public restrooms are usually soaking wet. Even at seemingly dry and respectable ones, you mustn’t lower your guard. After avoiding urinal backsplash, then avoiding water shrapnel from the turbo sink, you’re still not guaranteed to escape without embarrassing water marks on your pants. It usually all goes to hell when I lean in to the mirror for one final zit inspection and the water camoflauged on the granite countertop paints a nice crotch-high line across my khakis. Fuck.
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