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Thursday, October 28, 2004

We've been having troubles again with a certain homeless patron overstaying his 15 minute limit in the bathroom. This vagrant is in pitiful shape and I suspect that he is not intentionally abusing his bathroom privileges - it's just that his malt liquor and cheap fortified wine diet has ravaged his alimentary system and now it is too crippled for the demands of such a narrow time constraint. Since we only have one bathroom and patrons are complaining my manager is going to have to tell him to use the bathroom in the park, where there are no time limits. He and Loretta will have to work out some equitable stall time arrangement.

My friend Helen had a friend growing up whose mother was addicted to laxatives. Because of her debilitating dependency she would spend hours and hours on the toilet, so much so that if her children wanted to spend any time with her they would have to visit her in the bathroom. While she would hold court on the toilet her children would file in and sit on the edge of the bathtub and tell her all about their day at school. Helen's friend's warmest childhood memories are of time spent with her mother in the bathroom, where she would talk out her troubles with boyfriends and problems at school. These heart to hearts would end with the daughter giving her mother a big hug on the toilet. I guess if you grow up with it you don't think it's all that strange.

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