If you’ve ever been to The Gallery and really had to use the bathroom, you have surely found yourself faced with a difficult question: Do I sacrifice my dignity and use my pants or do I sacrifice my dignity and use the bathroom? If you’ve never found yourself faced with that situation, count yourself blessed and pray it never happens. But say you’re feeling adventurous, or the situation deems it necessary; you are then faced with another difficult decision: Where do I enter? Option 1: Make your way down the corridor straight out of Terminator 2 and pray a leather clad man with a box of “roses” doesn’t pop out of nowhere. Option 2: Cut through the adjacent sports-themed McDonalds — not a pretty option unto itself. So you make it down the hallway and there you are, faced with the sign at right, that seems more like a cruel joke played by the Gallery’s Cusomer Service Center than a real courtesy. From there, you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do and get out. Never mind the pools of god-knows-what that flood the floor; never mind the droves of men taking birdbaths in the sink; just get ‘er done and get out, and black it out, black it out. The worst part of the whole experience? That sinking walk of shame as you walk back down the corridor where you ask yourself whether the whole trip was really worth the empty bladder. It wasn’t.

Read more about Places We Can’t Understand.

This entry was posted on Monday, March 9th, 2009 at 1:29 pm.