Target Audience

Dear Target,

I think it’s safe to assume that by placing the toilet handle 4 feet off the ground, you are attempting to encourage people to use their hands, rather than their feet, to flush the toilet.  But it’s like this: No one wants to touch that handle.  Because we all know that everyone who may have previously touched it has just finished using the toilet, and has not had the opportunity to wash their hands.  Unless, of course, they’ve washed them in the toilet.  Eww. 

Target, I know you pride yourself in being higher class than Walmart.  As I write this, I’m sitting here in Bloomington where you are held in such high regard by the college students that you are constantly packed, while the Big K next door is a ghost town.  So why then, can you not spring for some automatically flushing poopers?  Walmart may not have a Starbucks inside it, but at least it has those!

Sure, right now I can Karate Kid that handle with ease, even if is chest height.  One of these days, though, I probably won’t be able to do that anymore.  At least not without risking grave bodily harm.  Is that what you’re counting on, Target?  That Myrtle and Esther, and one day even I won’t be able to can-can kick flush the toilet?  Maybe you figure that for every stubborn person like me who refuses to flush with her hands, there are at least two who can’t reach it with their feet.  

But I’ve got news for you, Target.  When I get to the point that I can’t kick that high, I’m not going to use my hand.  I just won’t flush.  And I know I’m not the only one.  Those automatic flushers sounding like a good idea yet?

The New Phone Booth

The invention of the cell phone has made it possible to reach someone anywhere, and at any time.  Except, of course, if you’re trying to get a hold of me, and I’m at home where cell signal is restricted to the bathroom and kitchen window sills, and the southeast corner of the living room.  But hey, you should always try the house first anyway.  Archaic, I know, but believe it or not I find the old land line to be quite satisfactory for at-home communication. 

 Folks see cell phones as a necessity these days.  It’s like everyone has forgotten that us grown-ups grew up just fine without carrying a phone.  That’s fine and dandy.  Don’t go anywhere without your phone.  After all, your car might break down. Or more likely, you might have to call your husband while both y’all are in Super Walmart to find out where he’s at. 

 But it’s gone beyond a necessity or convenience or whatever—it’s an addiction.  How else do you explain people who MUST answer the cell phone?  No. Matter. What.  Really, you don’t own the phone—the phone owns YOU. 

 Just the other day, Mini Me and I went into the restroom at Macy’s.  It’s a small restroom, with only 3 stalls.  All 3 were full and another lady was already in the queue.  As we stood waiting, one of the potty occupants was carrying on a conversation on her phone.  “Well, Jim’s going to have to have another surgery.  Mmm-hmm.  He’s already had 3 open-heart surgeries, you know…blah blah blockage blah blah…” Mini Me and I looked at each other and smiled.  I’m sure Jim would be thrilled to know that you’re sharing all his business with random strangers.  Strangers, I might add, who are grateful that Jim’s not having a vasectomy or a colonoscopy.  Our amusement was quickly interrupted, however, by the ringing of another phone in one of the other stalls.  Doo-dee-doo-doo-dee-dee-doo, rang the phone, followed by the sound of purse excavation, urine hitting toilet water, and finally, “Hello? Oh hi!  Yeah, I’m at the mall.  Mmm-hmm…”  

 Okay, really ladies?  Could it not wait?  You’re not 911, you don’t have to answer the phone.  Good grief!  Call them back when you’re done.  And get out of the daggone stall, so some of the rest of us out here peeing our pants due to a combination of full bladder and suppressed laughter can actually use the place for what God and Macy’s intended!