You wouldn't think you can wash your hands too much.
But you don't have to contend with The Sink.
The Sink has exactly two settings: Liquid Fire and Shoot Icicles. You will encounter the sink many times on your average day, and despite the experience of a year or more you will never properly set it to avoid scalding heat or freezing cold. Your hands, already raw from the bargain barrel soap you use--no lotion or aloe in this stuff, you buy it by the gallon after all--shake as you touch the spigot.
"Please," you say to this stainless steel demon, this entity of washing. "Please just don't hurt."
Maybe it's the eight shots of espresso bouncing angrily through your veins. Maybe it's the clopen you had to work today. Maybe it's the cumulative madness of no weekends whatsoever for well over half a year. Whatever it is, when you turn that spigot, you're dead certain you hear laughter in the running water. Not one laugh, but many, hissing through the faucet like so many snakes.
The paper towels with which you dry your hands are about as gentle as Sam Elliott's face. The bar towel sanitizer can't get in open wounds. The coffee urns drip at random as if they wish to attack you.
But I'll always hate The Sink the most.
Ranma. And am I the only one wondering if you could safely traverse these things by jumping really, really carefully?
Barf is always funny.