Sofitel

If you are ever in the city and need to find a quality place to drop a deuce, let me recommend the Sofitel on the corner of 17th and Sansom. Now I know what you are thinking, "Isn't that near where you work Skip?" Yes it is. And that's why I can safely say it's the cat's meow of facilities.

My workplace bathroom is sorry. It's basically a small closet oddly situated in the middle of a hallway that connects the elevators to the main section of the floor. You got a toilet, a small baby sized sink and that's it. Considering that I am on the bigger side (more to love ladies) and quite a dumper, I have taken up using the bathroom across the street at Sofitel. Pathetic, perhaps. However, don't judge until you see what Sofitel has to offer for yourself. The towels that you use to dry your hands are like fine linen, better than my fucking bath towel at home. And the shitters have doors on them. I mean actual doors. Floor to ceiling doors. With locks. It's like a little office or something. Amazing.

You have to be a little James Bond to get in the hotel and to the 2nd floor without drawing much attention to yourself, but it can be done. I stick out like a sore thumb with my horrible dress and incredible girth, yet no one has said a word to me about wandering the halls over there.

Until I'm told otherwise, I know where I'll be sitting pretty.