In the office building in midtown Manhattan where I work, our little company shares a men's room with the other tenants on our floor. The men's room is kept locked, and we have a communal key that sits on a filing cabinet by the door. The key is attached to a large red plastic square that says MEN and has the international male restroom symbol engraved on it.

I returned to work this morning after a week's vacation spent doing nothing but writing (okay, and playing the more-than-occasional computer game). My first stop off the elevator was the men's room. Beneath the door of one of the two stalls I could clearly see the shoes of one of my coworkers, and the communal men's room key.

Lying in the stall on the tile floor.

Now, I long ago stole out to a locksmith with the men's room key and had my own copy made, so I never use the communal version. But still, I'm skeeved out. We keep takeout menus piled on the same filing cabinet, and those I use all the time. Ugh, ugh, ugh.