The Hall of Shame

Only the long arm of the law could finish the paperwork in this restroom.

For those inconvenient times when there is only one magazine.

"Where's Bob?  Oh...THERE he is!"

"Employees are required to wash their hands 5 times after using the bathroom."

"This one is occupied and it's a boy.  This one is occupied and it's a girl.  This one..."

"You move your right left forward and I'll shimmy to the side..."

After years of cursing that horrible accident that took his two legs, Bob saw the silver lining.

With it's new design, everyone is guaranteed the best seat in the house.

Now with doors!  For the ultimate in privacy!

Wet wipes?!  Pshaw!  I invented them years ago!

Ascending the throne.

Urinal Twister!  New from Hasbro!

The Unenchanted Tiki Restroom

Recently I ate at the Harbor Crab Co in Long Island and was pleasantly surprised by the great tiki bar vibe.  This theming was carried all the way to the restroom where the walls were covered with bamboo and raffia.  It was what I would imagine the bathrooms looked like on Gilligan's Island.  Normally I would have thought this was pretty cool until I tried to close the bamboo door on the stall and realized that the stall was designed for Lieutenant Dan.  There was no leg room.  The door, when shut, was flush (pardon the pun) with the rim of the toilet.  This meant that anyone not truncated at the waist, would have to straddle the bowl to shut the door and then sit spread eagle.  Perhaps this is "the Polynesian Way."  Surely it works muscles not generally exercised in a normal restroom visit.

One situated, you find yourself uncomfortably close to a wall of bamboo and start to understand the POW experience in Southeast Asia.  Slowly, it dawns on you that you are completely trapped, indeed, you will never get out.  I pondered spending the rest of my life in this bamboo coffin.  Realizing that I had to get back to civilization, I started to plan my escape.  After ruling out opening the door to get some room to maneuver, I realized that my limbo training had come in handy after all and I was able to slowly extricated myself from the cage.  Now I am convinced that there are hidden cameras all over the place and that this bathroom will someday be a reality show.  The goal will be to find the best way to get out of the stall...with the least rim contact possible (it's not possible).

And that is my experience as a prisoner in the South Pacific.

Why?

A few weeks ago, I went to an antique show with friends in Lambertville, NJ.  As with most antique shows, there aren't permanent restrooms, but banks of port-a-potties.  When I got to the front of the line, I noticed that one of the booths had the green, "vacant" indicator.  So I thrust open the door and to my horror, there was a female senior citizen with her pants down to her knees, standing and facing the open door with the most horrified, startled look anyone could ever muster.  She said "Oh!" as she looked up and saw me as well as the entire audience of people in line behind me.

Now how women use the port-a-potty is and hopefully will remain a mystery to me.  That said, I cannot conceive of any reason that one would be standing up facing the outside with her pants around her knees AND FAIL TO LOCK THE FRIKKIN' DOOR!  I mean...it's not rocket science.  As I mentally regrouped from the trauma, I came to the conclusion that this was entirely her fault and that it represented a "teachable moment" with the lesson hopefully driven home by the look of sheer terror on my face.  If you're out there, lady, lock the door.

The Guggenheim bathroom

If you've ever been to the Guggenheim Museum in New York, you know that it's a fascinating work by renown architect, Frank Lloyd Wright, famous for Fallingwater and other unique buildings and the Prairie school of architecture.  He is also someone whose work flies in the face of "form follows function," as evidenced by the Guggenheim restrooms.

The building itself is composed of a coiled walkway where you start at the top and wind your way back down to the bottom with exhibits both on the walls of the "corkscrew" and also in side galleries.  Because of the intersecting circles of this design, the only available space for the restroom is between the intersection of 2 of these circles, essentially a narrow football shape.  The unfortunate result of this is that the toilet is wedged into the far corner of this football and, for anyone older than 4, that you have to sit "side saddled" on the toilet because there isn't enough room for your legs to be out in front of you.  For most folks, this would be "incondusive" to accomplishing the task at hand because your spine is torqued into the unnatural position that you've only experienced once or twice before at your high school yearbook photo session or the Sears Portrait Studio or if you've ever had seats in the mezzanine at the New Amsterdam Theater in NYC.  The only fortunate difference is that you don't have to smile or applaud on the Guggenheim toilet...unless...well, never mind. 

It's also problematic for anyone who is claustrophobic because the wall is literally a foot and a half from your face which gives the impression that you are "evacuating" in a coffin which, let's face it, falls under "things we never thought we'd have to do."  Unless...well...never mind.

The New York Restaurant Bathroom

I don't know how many of you are in the NY area, or have vacationed here enough to know this but, because of the space situation in NYC, the area of most restaurants devoted the restroom is minimal.  While it's adequate for smaller restaurant, it is second only to the joy of using an airline restroom with the added thrill that there is a lighted scented candle in there which runs the risk of setting you ablaze as you go about your routine.  At the very least, you will leave there smelling like sandwood.

Another hurdle is that the it has "the baby sink."  This is a sink so small that it looks more like a water fountain.  It is side-mounted and so narrow that your hand, the faucet, and the basin never quite align, so you find yourself cupping your hands in the hope that some of the water will run down your arm rinsing off the soap that is outside of the reach of the faucet flow, all the while trying to avoid touching the basin at all.  You end up washing your hands sideways doing this kind of Watusi dance while conscious that if you move too broadly in the wrong direction, your could ignite.

In many cases, this "room" is located literally feet away from someone's table and you exit feeling vulnerable knowing that they are privy to details about your most personal behavior, for example, if you flushed twice or if you stayed "too long," or, God forbid, if you're having "Number 2" issues.  You avoid making eye contact with them as you exit, but with your peripheral vision, you can see that they're looking up ever so discretely to judge you.  No one likes getting the "toilet table", but if it means the difference between waiting forever for the next available or getting seating right away, many New Yorkers will opt for the latter.

I'm always amazed by the restaurant bathrooms in Paris.  They are equally small, but they're always down a tiny spiral staircase with mirrored walls, too narrow for anyone but supermodels, and down a corridor so far removed from the restaurant dining area that you almost feel as though you've entered Belgium by the time you finally reach the bathroom.  They're equally unglamourous, but at least you never have to deal with the ringside toilet judges watching your every move.

The XLerator

Can I just say what a fan of the XLerator hand dryer I am?  I first encountered it in a public restroom in Canterbury, UK where, get this, you would  put your hand into this orifice (definitely an act of trust in a public restroom) and the device would automatically dispense the soap into your hands, trigger the water with which to rinse, AND automatically start the XLerator!  I felt as though I was witness to the technology of an advanced civilization and, let's face it, the British haven't been revolutionary since...well, they've never really been revolutionary.

So, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the XLerator, it is a hand dryer that literally does to your hands what those astronaut training centrifuges do to astronaut faces...it blows with such force that your skin buckles, making it look like a flag in a gale force wind.  I'm sure that if you put your face under it, it would surpass the effectiveness of a chemical peel, stripping off at least 2 layers of dead skin.  The beauty of this is, of course, that your hands are dry in seconds. 

What they haven't quite worked out is that it blows all the water from your hands onto the floor.  So there is usually a puddle within a 3 foot radius of the XLerator and, I don't know about you but, I always find the restroom puddle a bit off-putting. 

I have no doubt that in the future, the Japanese will solve this problem.

Commodalicious

I'm a bad blogger...but in the interests of posting SOMETHING...please enjoy this Japanese delicacy.