I have known something for a long time time now. I guess I've known it since around the time I sprouted up and started being taller than everyone else around me.
The fact which I learned early in life is this: The handicapped toilet is much more comfortable than the regular toilet.
Not only is there generally more space available to manuever around once you close the door, but the toilet paper is also a little further away from your leg so that you aren't constantly mashing it into the wall.
Being of beyond average height, the handicapped toilet really is just much more comfortable to sit on. When I sit on the regular toilet, I feel like I'm squatting down to crap in a hole in the floor. It stresses out my knees and if I sit there for too long (like when I smuggle in a good book or a thick catalog, or if there is a whole lot of interesting graffiti) then my legs fall asleep and it's very awkward trying to leave the bathroom afterwards.
Today, however, I had to use one of the regular toilets. Usually, I would just exit the bathroom and check on another floor if I came in to find that the luxury suite was already occupied. However, I could not do that today since there was some guy in front of the sink preening himself and he looked right at me when I came in. It would have been terribly confusing to everyone involved if I, having come lumbering in with my book half-hidden under my arm, were to suddenly turn about and rush out the door again.
So, I avoided eye contact with the primper and I entered one of the smaller poop areas. I was really taken aback at just how low the toilet was, and when I sat down on it I was certain I was going to hit the floor. But, no. I ended up on the low seat, with my knees poking up around my chin. Since I hate the non-handicapped toilet I quickly did what I had to do and finished up.
The other trouble with the sunken toilet is that I have to somehow contort myself and manage to fold in half in order to do the wiping action. I am too large for the constricted space of a standard shit box. I will not use one anymore.
As I exited the low-slung poo dungeon, I noted that I hadn't heard a single sound the whole time I was in there. No sniffles, no pages turning, no paper tearing, no feet scuffling, no belt buckle or change-in-pockets clinking. Nothing. Just me pooping.
I looked over to the closed door on the main attraction and since no one else was around, I peered through the crack. Nothing. Just an empty seat.
I pulled the door open so that no one else would be fooled by the devious practices of the one-who-shuts-the-door-on-an-unoccupied-stall.