Satelite Inc. is located in Minneapolis. We can be proud.

There’s nothing like four days of using a port-o-let to raise questions about your fellow man.

First, based on my experience of the past few days, I feel confident that even without a penis I can control the stream of my urine with far more accuracy than most men. Why do they allow their pee to stray so far from the goal? Is it just laziness bred by the knowledge that neither they nor their relatives will ever have to go near it again? Is a port-o-let urinal the broadest target possible? No. But come on, gents. Let’s try to keep it in the general vicinity, huh?

Second, which budding young Basquiats are willing to spend enough time in a port-o-let to draw two people doing it doggy style? I can see scrawling a few initials or maybe one of those anarchy signs, but two-dimensional sexual diagrams? That’s a time commitment. And here’s the kicker: in this particular port-o-let I saw not just one couple going at it, but two! Was this one perfectionist, unhappy enough with the first drawing to remain in a stinking, 90 degree port-o-let to capture more nuance in a second draft? Or did the first graffito inspire a second artiste? If so, was it an ego-driven, “I can top that hack” sort of thing, or was it a more thoughtful commentary on the other one? Like, “I see where my predecessor was coming from, but I think the post-post-modern doggy-style world is crying out for more expression (and bigger noses) on the participants faces.” The mind boggles.

Third, what are people eating? Let’s just all admit, first of all, that a port-o-let gives you no choice but to look at other people’s poo. And I can honestly say that if anything looking like that came out of my body, I would freak out. Are these people on a steady diet of nothing but meat, spray cheese, and Metamucil? Is it IBS? Has it been like that for so long that they aren’t concerned? Because from what I’ve seen, there are hundreds of people out there that desperately need to get in to see an internist.

One thing’s for sure: I love the sound of a flushing toilet.