Crap in Your Own Can Part II

This morning I was in a fog. A late evening in Dover, NH consequently had me cruising down the hallway in a state of oblivion that nearly got the best of me. Quickly, I turned the corner to my bathroom to achieve a simple maneuver of reaching for a paper towel. Alas, I was abruptly met by a closed door. One that I almost planted my face upon; which, I am certain, would have made a cool noise. I did not shut it. Someone else did. And you better believe it was one of the guys. Only an hour into the day and he (whomever it may be) had already broken the quality freshness of the previously aired-out, virginesque women's bathroom.

Afraid to knock and hear a moan or something of the like, I spun on my heel and searched elsewhere for a napkin of sorts. On more than one ocassion I have agonizingly returned to my desk with a full bladder and awaited several minutes while allowing ventilation to sweep its glory throughout the hallway before rehashing the nerve to ascend it again.

What could possibly be enhancing the now obvious obsession? Really, why do they continue using my bathroom to relieve their colons? A number of thoughts have surfaced since asking myself this question.

1. Someone else may be occupying the men's room.
2. Toilet paper is well-stocked.
3. English is a second language to four of the five men. Perhaps "Women" translates to "poop here" in their native tongue.
4. Being 2 1/2 feet further down the hallway, there is that much less of a chance that someone will hear them taking care of business.
5. When standing at the toilet in their bathroom, they are facing West. In keeping with consistency, sitting on my toilet also allows them to face West.
6. My cotton blossom spray is more appealing than their blue raspberry spray.
7. Maybe they simply don't realize that I'm catching on.

I suppose I can deal as long as I don't have to use their's.