Here's a picture of the destruction I waged upon this toilet:

I didn't mean to destroy it, of course. I set my backpack on the back of the toilet lid and when I lifted my backpack, the strap caught on the lid and dragged it off (it was very light). The lid then slammed into the toilet—there was no cover to break the fall—and broke the bowl in half. I stood there, watching as the water dribbled onto the floor, and started to laugh in shock.

Unfortunately, I was in a hurry, so I left for a few hours after I couldn't find anyone to tell about it. But I did take a picture.

I returned two hours later rather nervous, afraid that the whole building would be in an uproar about the toilet. I went to the bathroom to look again, but there was no tape over the door—in fact, nothing had changed. Maybe no one had even noticed. I went and approached some woman who worked there, but she just laughed.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "Our maintenance workers will fix it. You can stop by sometime and pay for it if you want to, but don't worry about it."

I was kind of stunned, but grateful. I didn't really want to pay for a new toilet anyway.