In any new office, navigating the new waters can be treacherous. And the first hurdle to cross is the restrooms. Every man needs his Fortress of Solitude. Some place to sit down in peace and put your head in your hands for a spell. Gather your strength, girdle your loins, and prepare for another round.
Maybe the fascists are on to me? Probably not. The Godmachine makes no noise. Thus I disregard their signs. I won't follow your rules!
P.S., yes I do wash my hands, thank you. It is the other sign I technically cross.