Rush In Roulette

The mens' restroom in my building is divided, cleverly enough, with urinals in front, bowls and stalls in the rear. A subconscious tribute to "milk, milk, lemonade, round the corner fudge is made", I'm sure.

Today as I passed through the front area, past the urinals, towards the stalls, another man passed me in the opposite direction. He had obviously just been a patron of the stalls. I approached the bank of three stalls and sized up the situation.

The one on the far right has a prominently-displayed handicap access placard. I happen to know that there are a couple of men in the building who are legitimately physically handicapped who make use of the larger stall and handrail. Most others are respectful of this and leave the stall available for those who need it.

Since the man I passed was walking and not rolling I presumed he had not used the handicap stall. this left just two other stalls from which to choose. I examined the position of the doors, looked closely for recent-flush evidence but saw nothing which would indicate which stall to avoid.

I took my best guess and entered the middle stall. As I sat to make myself comfortable I knew immediately that I had chosen wrong.

The seat was still warm. Damn.