Random unrelated image: Time to put a cork in it.
This is directed to the person who is responsible for the toilets at our new local Wal-Mart. It’s not often that I use a toilet in one of your stores, but whenever I stop to eat at Rio Grande beforehand, it is inevitable. I beg you to please recalibrate the auto-flush sensors. I was trying to lighten my load on one of your fine, high-tech porcelain beauties last week, and every time I shifted position the dang thing flushed.
I’m sure you are aware that you have the flushing mechanism set all the way to the max. Normally this is a good thing. We both know what a bummer it is to find leftovers in the bowl. Your plumbing masterpieces are serious, industrial-grade machines. You should be proud of them, because when they flush, they FLUSH. It’s a raging torrent of wind and water down there, and I’m sure it does a Hell of a job.
The problem is, when I was sitting on it, every time I so much as breathed the thing went off. That hurricane-force flush is rather unpleasant when it’s raging almost nonstop just below my crotch.
Seriously, it was like a toilet-bowl version of A Perfect Storm and my balls were playing the part of the Andrea Gail.