And now, another great (I use that word about as loosely as it can be used before it comes apart) moment in corporate motivational records.
In 1969, American Standard felt it needed a soundtrack to get its people pumped up about selling toilets and other bathroomy things. The result, because these things rarely if ever go well, was this love letter to the bathroom, which sounds like creepiness wrapped in awful and garnished with gross.
All you need to do is gaze upon the title of this musical masterwork to know that we’re off to a bad start. Rather than evoking images of a quiet place of solitude, “My Bathroom Is A Private Kind of Place” immediately had me worried that I’d be listening to 3 minutes of this woman telling me all about what she does in there. And I either was or was not disappointed…I’m still not entirely sure. No way I’m going back to check, but I swear there’s a line about washing and creaming. That’s big rig loads of wrong crammed into a pickup truck, if you ask me.
I won’t spoil the whole thing for you. American Standard handled that end of things just fine. I shall simply get out of the way and let you take it all in, perhaps during a quiet moment between you and your bathroom.
You are not wrong. There’s also a long, drawn-out line about where she can cream, and dream, and dream…way too much creaming going on.
I didn’t even get into the dreaming and creaming business. Though I must say the order seems a bit off. Usually the bathroom is where I go *after* the dreaming and creaming has taken place.