Whenever I use the bathroom at work I panic. No, I don’t worry that I won’t make it to the toilet, or that I’m going to catch someone “peeking,” or that I’m going to slip and my mouth is going to fall on some guy’s dong. I worry that I’m going to be a victim of mistaken identity. Here’s the scenario: I walk into an empty bathroom and it reeks to high heaven, like the last guy in there had a Mexican atomic bomb drop out his ass. Then, as I’m walking out, in walks someone else, who, naturally, thinks I’m the stinky culprit. When this happens, I feel like one of those guys who spends 10 years on death row for a crime he didn’t commit. Oh, the injustice!