Are you kidding bathroom attendant?

I can go to the bar. I can order my own drink. And surprisingly enough, I can even consume that drink all by myself. So what makes you think that I can't turn on my own water or grab my own towel, bathroom attendant? Yes, I know you are there as a service. But no, I don't want any. I don't want you to grab my towel; I don't want your candy; and I sure as hell don't want to give you a dollar. Call me cheap but does pumping soap into my hand hold the same value as the items found on the greatness that is the Wendy's 99 cent menu? The next time I frequent the squared hamburger joint and order a JBC (That's a junior bacon cheese burger, and shame on you for not knowing!) and a 5 piece, when the cashier holds her hand out for the $1.98 I'll just whip out my bottle of Dial, give her two pumps and a paper towel and tell her we'll call it even. But for some reason that probably wouldn't go over too well bathroom attendant. And like I always say, "If it's not good enough for Dave Thomas (may he rest in peace) then it's not good enough for me." (Actually, that's the first time I've ever said that, but it's besides the point.) And, why do you sometimes feel the need to play music? Although there is a small possibility I might enjoy the 99 cent bargain bin music that I haven't heard before coming from your top of the line 1988 duct tape held together boom box, there's a greater chance that I won't. So let's just call a truce bathroom attendant. The next time I pass your cologne and candy lined sink, I'll get my own soap and you'll leave me the hell alone.