There are no doubt some readers out there who will be secretly pleased to hear that not all aspects of my new job are perfect.
Toilet paper, oft the receptacle of my ire where I used to work, is much better here. While still in a giant impersonal and un-scored roll, it is soft and serves its function well.
Unfortunately, there is only one stall in the bathroom, and the door to said stall is totally and completely, incalculably wack. Not only does the door not really line up with the jam, failing to perform its function in a respectable fashion, but I think I may have hurt my wrist trying to twist the stupid inch-diameter knob that extends the bolt-type-thingy. The twisting action is maddeningly sticky, (although the knob itself is not) and only seems to actually even work at all about half of the time. I feel like I’ve spent literally minutes trying to close and fasten that door. Minutes that feel–when the porceline object of your desire is so near at hand–like hours.