When I say “land mines in the washroom”, it’s actually not what you might think
I just went into the washroom and nearly flew headfirst into the wall behind it when I tripped over a large briefcase someone had left laying right behind the door, just outside its swing radius but directly in the path of anyone entering. “Jesus Christ!” I blurted.
“Oh, sorry,” said a voice from behind the urinal partition. “That’s my bag.”
“It’s right in front of the door,” I said. I picked it up and carried it to an empty corner of the room, then entered a stall, shaking my head. Who does that? I wondered. He must have been in a major hurry to get into the washroom.
And he must have been in just as big a hurry to leave, before I saw who he was. I didn’t hear any water running before I heard the door open and close again.
So, not only does this guy leave land mines in the washroom for people to trip over, but he doesn’t even wash his hands before leaving. Nice.
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