It’s possible I read too much into things that I encounter in my everyday life. It’s possible that I, good lit grad student I am, see texts everywhere. In everything. And I feel the need to interpret way too much of it.
The women’s bathroom in the coffee shop at which I spent my afternoon has a very curious object indeed. I think it’s supposed to be a changing table. Let’s take a look, shall we?
Behold: The Sturdy Station
Okay, so, that’s a little weird. Let’s take a closer look.
This changing table approved by Dumbo. And his mom. And your mom.
If you’re like me, you will be wondering why this changing table has an empty liner dispenser, but mostly why there are elephants involved. Presumably, I’m supposed to understand that the Sturdy Station is so sturdy it can handle elephant babies, which I see as being pretty unlikely, given how elephant babies tend not to wear diapers. Also, elephant moms? No thumbs. Couldn’t change their babies’ diapers, even if their babies had diapers. I don’t care how magical and flexible a trunk is. There is a logical disconnect here. Also, these elephants we’re marketing to (because at this point, I have decided that it’s actually for elephants and not for humans-but-so-sturdy-an-elephant-could-use-it) appear to be multilingual. They must be circus elephants. Disreputable pink circus elephants. I am now deeply suspicious.
You are breaking up the between-strip closure with more goddamn elephants.
What. The. Hell.
Okay, let’s break this sh*t down:
1. Pull on one of the (missing) liners. You will receive a pink elephant.
2. Strap your baby to the elephant. Make sure the baby is secure.
3. Ride the elephant to the garbage can and dispose of your infant’s diapers.
4. Ride the elephant back to the Sturdy Station and fold it away to become elephant-free once more.
It’s only logical.
Edit: It has been pointed out to me that the “let’s break this sh*t down” moment was an entirely unnecessary one. “No. You could have stopped before that. You could have stopped before that and written none of this.”
Could I have done, imaginary interlocutor? Could I really?