To whom it may concern,
You probably don't remember me. It's been moments since we interacted. And the way my face was twisted when we met...who knows if you would have the foggiest idea where you'd seen me.
But I remember where I've seen you. It was in the bathroom. Not more than five minutes ago, actually. I was standing above the toilet, penis out and peeing, when you opened the door and nearly collided with my backside before realizing that, well, oh, the restroom was occupied.
You must have missed the massive sign outside the door. One second, I'll recite it for you. It reads, in massive type, "LOCK IS BROKEN. PLEASE KNOCK!" and it's followed by a drawing of a flower and a lovely little smiley face. I get it, though. Reading is tough! It's one of those things that not everyone is blessed to be capable of. Literacy is a massive issue in this country; I am fully aware of that.
But that copy of Michael Crighton's Jurrasic Park is pretty indicative of you being able to read. And my guess would be much larger words than "broken" or as phonetically misleading as "knock."
I think the worst part of this whole interaction--other than your lack of apology for interrupting my sacred moment of peace and pee--was your inexplicable need to put your hand on my shoulder as you were leaving. What the eff was that about?! I'm taking a piss in a public restroom, you just barged in here, nearly toppling me in the process, and then as a half-hearted gesture between bros, you pat my shoulder?
I loathed every single moment of this interaction. I just need you to know that. You seem like a nice human, but what kind of person doesn't knock on a bathroom door, LET ALONE A BATHROOM DOOR THAT IS LABELED: KNOCK?!"
Please, please, please never subject another human to the unbearable moment we just shared.
Your friend in urination,