In the bad old chemo-and-radiation days I developed a
highly accurate mental map of the location of every public rest room on my
regular routes around the county, a map that still comes in handy even though I no
longer need it so urgently. I know which rest rooms are generally clean and
which ones tend to run out of toilet paper, which ones require a big clunky key
and which ones are hidden behind doors marked “employees only."
I’ve never forgiven the convenience store that refused to
allow me to use the rest room even though (a) I was really sick; (b) I promised
to buy something on the way out; and (c) the next available rest room was
several miles up a busy road. That store was recently purchased by a national
chain and transformed into a full-service gas station/convenience store, and
one of these days I intend to walk in there and use the rest room without
buying anything at all. They owe me a free flush!
The ladies’ room at my daughter’s church keeps bottles of
hand lotion on the counter, which is a nice treat after the harsh soap and
hot-air dryers. I’ve been in rest rooms featuring comfy sofas, diaper-changing
tables, and soft cloth towels, but all I really require from a public rest room
is that it be clean, private, functional, and available.
Still, when the need was urgent enough I’ve settled for a
rest room where even the soap looked
dirty, where doors wouldn’t shut and there were holes in the walls big enough
to toss a shoe through, or with floors so filthy I wanted to apologize to my
shoes. I’ve used the men’s room when the ladies’ wasn’t available and I’ve used
outhouses inhabited by spiders and portapotties that made me want to puke.
This week I hit a new low: I used a rest room without realizing that there was no running water. Intrepid investigation revealed that the company had turned
off the water at the main because the toilet keeps running and the water bill
has been through the roof. Did they post an “out of order” sign on the door?
No, they did not; they just allowed unsuspecting visitors to discover the
problem when the toilet refused to flush.
Here’s a hint: in a pinch, it’s possible to wash your hands
with bottled water. It’s not the most cost-effective method, but it works.
2 comments:
I have an increasingly complicated latrine and flush toilet rating system. Few latrines get the L10 rating, but I've been in a few L8s and L9s.
Flush toilets start on a slightly different scale, perhaps because my expectations are higher? But it's really hard for a flush system to get an F10 unless it has different flush options and looks sparkly clean.
Still, having available toilet paper is a plus in either system!
Wouldn't it be great if all public rest rooms were required to post some sort of rating easily visible to the public? Gas stations could post the RR rating just below the price of gas on the sign so you'd know whether it's worth stopping. I'll bet there's already an app for that....
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