Monday, December 7, 2009


There are no handicapped people (certified) in our building. So don't bother scolding when I confess that I occasionally do business in the larger, quieter handicapped bathroom. No women, in particular, should gripe. When the cleaning dude had the door propped open, I saw their large private space, with it's floral display, scent plug-ins, wallpaper borders and fainting couch. I'm not really complaining; most guys (including me) are perfectly happy with our mini-stalls and no art on the walls... usually. But sometimes it's nice to have a more private room with a larger volume of air.
Anyway. Hung temporarily on the backside of the wide door for the nonexistant handicapped people is a sign that says 'OUT OF ORDER'. Perhaps there is occasional trouble here, when the sign is moved to the door front to protect people from danger I don't want to think about. I'm sitting in this quiet, large, clean, functionally perfect place, looking at the sign on the door leading out to an increasingly chaotic world. Out of order. How appropriate.