The Walmart bathroom plays the best music. A kind of white trash, extra frumpy, "bless their heart" attempt at elevator music. The kind of music that makes you contemplate the world and all the other ways you could have ended up.
Like you could have been a billionaire or a movie star or absurdly beautiful or something, but on the other hand you could have been the person who wrote the Walmart bathroom music.
Because think about it: somebody had to write that. And that somebody could have been you but it isn't. It could have been you but it isn't and now you're sitting there listening to Mumford and Sons or something, wearing your thrifted cat sweater in the most ironic way possible, while they are the one who donated that sweater to D.I. in the first place probably.