![piquant:
marc:
The Dysin Airblade ain’t your father’s hand dryer. It’s a performace machine.
Okay guys, this hand dryer is MAGICAL. It feels like the future. The air comes out in a rush through just two tiny slits, creating an almost solid-feeling, cushiony layer of (unheated!) warmth right at the opening on top. Plunging your hands through that layer is a life-affirming experience. No more waiting for the dryer to ineffectually wheeze on you as you frantically rub your palms together! No, with this dryer, you physically, almost violently demand the drying experience that you have always wanted—that you have always deserved! And as the dryer speedily obliges, the air even placatingly caresses your hands on all sides.
Right now, it is only available in the women’s washroom next to our program common room. The men are wild with envy. One night when we were working late, I took Ben and Nick into that hushed inner sanctum so they could finally experience the wonder. But they were not at all appropriately enthused. Nick’s response: “The opening isn’t big enough. My [crazy giant] hands touched the sides.” Whatever, Nick. Jealousy is not a good look for you.
I had the good fortune of coming across one of these in Tokyo, in a garish Karaoke/live music 1000Y all-you-can-drinky-drinky place named the Big Pink Pig. It was almost a religious experience.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/kQ4t5ztDXkjkgml00BNtagAko1_500.jpg)
marc:
The Dysin Airblade ain’t your father’s hand dryer. It’s a performace machine.
Okay guys, this hand dryer is MAGICAL. It feels like the future. The air comes out in a rush through just two tiny slits, creating an almost solid-feeling, cushiony layer of (unheated!) warmth right at the opening on top. Plunging your hands through that layer is a life-affirming experience. No more waiting for the dryer to ineffectually wheeze on you as you frantically rub your palms together! No, with this dryer, you physically, almost violently demand the drying experience that you have always wanted—that you have always deserved! And as the dryer speedily obliges, the air even placatingly caresses your hands on all sides.
Right now, it is only available in the women’s washroom next to our program common room. The men are wild with envy. One night when we were working late, I took Ben and Nick into that hushed inner sanctum so they could finally experience the wonder. But they were not at all appropriately enthused. Nick’s response: “The opening isn’t big enough. My [crazy giant] hands touched the sides.” Whatever, Nick. Jealousy is not a good look for you.
I had the good fortune of coming across one of these in Tokyo, in a garish Karaoke/live music 1000Y all-you-can-drinky-drinky place named the Big Pink Pig. It was almost a religious experience.
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