This is a little awkward. Where I work has separate men's and women's bathrooms (unlike the ones we have at my house and yours, I suspect; I'm not sure why we behave in public differently than we do in private) but that's not the awkward part.
A visit to the men's facilities is always informative if not educational because of the amount of reading material ranging from newspapers and (horse) racing forms (which confuses me since I don't think we have horse racing in Connecticut; I can't imagine Bryce or Prudence bouncing out of their saddles as they race their polo ponies on the Gold Coast) through news weeklies and publications that tend towards many pictures, carefully placed staples and not a lot of words.
For a couple of days, one of the latter has been circulating throughout the, umm, cubicles. Just the name of it causes some to roll their eyes and let out a little sigh, but believe me when I say most of us only glance at it for the articles. Admittedly, it has been known to take hours to find the articles in it, but that's just another sign of the prevalence of Adult Attention Deficit Disorder.
Yesterday, the Synonym for a Proverb (I'm trying to be couth, which is more than can be said for that publication) was replaced by American Rifleman, the self-proclaimed "premier magazine for shooting and firearms enthusiasts." I especially enjoyed the "Dope Bag" whose title caused me to titter like a schoolchild until I remembered where I was and what I was doing. You don't have to call me lieutenant Rosie, and I don't want to be your son.
And almost as importantly, I'd wish for better graffiti so I had something else, anything else, to read. I now better understand how many periodicals are often called magazines, but how magazines are a whole 'nother thing with a completely different purpose.
- bill kenny
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