The elite members of our society have mastered the art of bladder control and have never ventured into the desolate wastelands of the bathrooms. The less talented people however, have entered the realm of horror and will find this story chillingly familiar.

As soon as you step foot inside a bathroom your shoes stick to the floor. Then, a horrible odor hits your nose. It’s not the kind of horrible you would use to describe the NBA chump squad aka the Charlotte bobcats. It’s the kind of horrible you would use in a vivid retelling of Miley Cyrus’s VMA performance. To put it bluntly it’s really bad.

After making your way to the first stall you cautiously open the door to find a disgusting surprise. You queasily stumble to the next stall, comforting your stomach with gentle caressing and thoughts of chipotle. The second stall reveals  a scene that makes stall #1 look like the Beverly Hills. At least the last visitor at stall #1 had decent accuracy.

After putting forth the effort to clean the seat with the world’s worst toilet paper*, you quickly do your business, wash your hands, and get out of there. Walking out of our bathrooms generates a sensation similar to walking out of seventh period, or school on the last day, or prison, or…math class: it generates a freedom.

If you ever see someone in the hall taking deep breathes or collecting themselves as if they just experienced something traumatic then know this: they couldn’t hold it. Or they’re walking out of math class.

*It must be written in the constitution that all school toilet paper must be horrible because EVERYWHERE I go it always is horrible. Curse you founding fathers and your weak public hygiene platforms.