Larry just couldn’t believe his luck. He’d beaten the morning restroom rush and found a vacant, freshly cleaned cubical. The toilet paper inside the stall was not only well stocked, it was of 3-ply quality. Larry sat on the seat; the plastic was at a moderate temperature that hinted at no former visitor, nor sent its current occupant a chill. He looked up; the calendar on the door had been flipped; he was greeted with an unfamiliar shot of a beautiful mountainous landscape. The process lasted only seconds, and the wipe, although performed, was completely unnecessary. In a single economical flush, evidence of the event was completely erased. Things just couldn’t get better. Larry merrily wandered over to wash his hands. The water at the basin flowed at the perfect temperature, and the pressure was thorough, yet gentle. He glanced over at the censor-activated soap dispenser. Coconut scented – Larry’s favourite. ‘All on company time,’ smiled Larry to his own reflection. He placed his hand under the dispenser. Nothing happened. A flashing light on the side of the device caught Larry’s attention. The word ‘refill’ appeared is small font alongside it.