PUBLIC RESTROOMS

The term "Rest Room" is one of the most inaccurate euphemisms of all time. Never have I rested in such a room, nor would I ever be able to relax in one as bacteria merrily declare open season on me. But, when ya gotta go ...

Anyone who treats the use of public lavatories with barely a thought and a smile is someone I don’t want to know or associate with. These are also the ones who whistle annoying ditties like “Jingle Bells” to themselves. For people like me, using the men’s room at work, school or at the museum tends to be an exercise in discomfort, humiliation and olfactory assault. Everyone is familiar with this experience, so why doesn’t someone do something about it?

Perhaps the people who run public facilities are germophobes themselves, or maybe even the opposite; they are phobia lacking, unaware brutes that aren’t affected by tropical temperatures, horrific odors and lack of personal space. And don't forget the ca-ca-phonous symphonies emanating from behind stall doors.

While I'm saying what everyone's thinking, I may as well explain my simple proposal here. Install speakers above each stall and play relaxing classical music at a reasonable volume. This will at least mask some of the echoing, gastrological orchestrations and post-coffee pleading moans that punctuate the toxic, disinfectant-urine combo-tainted air. Regarding the forward-thinkers who have turned such common public stink-lockers into surround-sound lounges, we salute you and hope others will follow in your footsteps.

My next piss-positive pitch has already been put into effect. Allow me to illustrate with a story. Last week at the movie theater, my urgent bladder temporarily suspended my fear of filth-ridden bacteria dens, sending me in search of the nearest human waste bank. Springing up the silver catwalk to the intimate hallway leading to the restrooms, I nearly crashed into a wall of Tommy Hilfiger and Old Navy queued up to empty their swollen bladders.

Craning my neck around the crowd, I peered through the threshold of the tiled arena housing gleefully abused plumbing. Shining stall walls harbored glimmering porcelain amidst a peculiar, steamy haze. Shower capped men bathed and played Marco Polo in vast pools of urine while more adventurous types yellow water rafted in feces-and-pube canoes. It was a scatological nightmare, a love letter from Willy Wonka’s Human Waste Factory on Bizarro World. Horrified, I slid down the railing, hit the floor running, and didn’t stop until I stumbled into a large, illuminated metal door.

Finding myself in an unearthly foyer resembling an alien space ship, there was just enough light to make out shapes and edges. All I could hear was the comforting blow of constantly recycling, refrigerated air. A monolithic entrance, lit around its edges and marked with the universal symbol for male, stood mightily before me. Reaching out, I pulled the chilly, metal lever down and entered.

"Men"

A rush of cool, fresh air gently caressed me and pulled me inside. My body went limp and relaxed as I floated in, like a tiny vessel enveloped in the welcome rescue of a mothership’s loving tractor beam. The door swiftly closed with a quiet click and I prepared for a body scan.

Hearing a “pshhhkk” sound, I looked up and discovered a minor miracle; a timed, scented spray machine. Genius! Wherever this superior civilization was from, I wanted to join. In fact, I’d even say that I would travel to distant galaxies in order to further experience the advanced ways of this scatologically aware society.

Space-Turlit

Not only was this futuristic lavatory devoid of offensive smells, it was also devoid of the producers of those smells: people! I was in a one-man escape pod, equipped with everything I needed to efficiently relieve myself and remain relatively germ-free. The only luxuries missing from this heavenly washroom were the automatic flush and sink sensors.

The experience was so surreal, yet so visceral. I was so awestruck that I barely remember leaving the room and returning to my seat in the theater. Later on, I wondered "Would I ever find another safe, germ-free oasis again?" Like any desperate man crawling through a desert of discomfort in search of The Shining One, I could have simply imagined a mirage. Did this hazy incident even occur at all?

I have a dream … that one day … mankind will EVOLVE … to the point where we have total, touch-free automation! For in-depth coverage of these evolutionary steps, please visit The World Toilet Organization at World Toilet.com and register for the next World Toilet Expo. Or, visit the informative and quite revealing Restroom Ratings for unfortunate but amusing instances of an opposing nature.

- posted by Hal Miller @ 11:02 AM |