This bathroom needs a disco ball.

I've been watching something at work, and it is getting weirder.

The ladies' room has a long mirror on one wall, and below it a table. There are hand lotions and hair spray on there. Nice touch. But there is always also something else.

One week, a pair of baby dolls, dressed in sailor suits. Odd, but, OK, goes with the Navy theme.

For about 2 weeks or so, there have been a stack of inspirational cassette tapes. Joel Osteen. The Power of Positive Thinking. Something with a pyramid on the front of the case. That kind of thing. Odd, and who even has a cassette player anymore, but OK. Maybe all that positive thinking is good for the Navy. Right? We shall become upbeat warfighters.

This week, though: Cheezballs.

There is a giant jar of cheezballs, and another of pretzels, and a pretty decent sized container of salted peanuts, sitting on a table inside the public ladies' restroom.

Have we not heard of atomization, people?

If they had little individual packages of snack foods in there I might be tempted to take one. But the idea of reaching my hand into a giant jar of cheezballs, left in the bathroom...ugh. No.

Do people grab a fistful as they enter the restroom? You know, to kill time while they're in there? Or are they making big cones out of the paper towels and bringing them back to their desk? I just want to look at all the women's fingers, to find the one with orange dust. THAT woman has a cleanliness standard I cannot share.

I think we should hang a disco ball in there, and tell the men they can join us if they bring cold beer.

I asked my boss if the men's room has a similar selection of oddities, and he said, no. He suggests that people are leaving things in the ladies' room as a sort of de facto Freecycle. And that makes sense. And I did see those cheezballs on a shelf in someone's office, before.

I'm still not taking them home.