Bathroom Monologue: The Thirteenth Floor

Those floors are there. They were purchased in bulk by a misanthropic entrepreneur in 1834, who foresaw a time of high rises. Having to cross the country so often that he never knew what building he’d stay at, he gave a massive loan to the Federal Treasury and related companies, in return for an exclusive opportunity to purchase the thirteenth floor of every building that would ever be built. Loathing his fellow man, he made certain all elevators would skip his floor so that no children would come by to touch his rare art, or in the mid-20th century, his arcade machines. Whenever an arcade goes out of business, he buys every machine and has them shipped to one of his thousands of private floors. The quarter slots are ripped out to be played in his lonely and unlucky rooms, only occasionally heard by people on their way up to 14.