I remember going to this faux-Hawaii-Barbeque sort of restaraunt, when my bladder beckons for relief. I step into the coed bathroom, and a long line protudes from the stalls. There were two stalls, actually; a medium-sized one in front with a urinal (oooh big help there) and a miniscule women's stall in the back. There was barely enough room in which my sister could squeeze. These conditions, perhaps, might have been tolerable.
The larger problem? The toilets were bolted to the wall, about fifteen feet off of the ground. So it took some pawing and hoisting before I could finally nest upon a throne. The toilet immediately took to swinging. Marti, however, was there to calculate. She recorded the circumfrence of the toilet seat and it's velocity.
At this depressing point, I forced to wake myself up to a sunny morning. Then the depression REALLY sank in; it was time to get up for school.