Toilets
A good toilet is hard to find. I've traveled 13 countries in three continents, and the vast majority of the toilets in each one of them were deplorable. Ranging from the mere holes of Italy to the dreaded shelves of Germany, doing your business like a civilized human being is not as easy as it should be at the turn of the 21st century.
Ever since I was a young boy, I've maintained a map in my head of all the safe toilets in my surroundings: A restaurant with bathrooms near the door where one could slip in undetected, do his business, and get out, for example*, or a business with customers coming in and out at all times**. For several years my favorite was the local city hall; I enjoyed knowing first-hand that my tax dollars really were working for me.
Acquiring a car in high school expanded my map greatly -- and thank God it did. To this day I've seen few bathrooms to rival those of my high school: toilets befouled and unflushed, and always seemingly used only moments before my arrival. Who were these people, I often wondered? Why couldn't they flush? Did they think it was funny? Funny not to flush? What kind of person thinks that's funny? And why, in a bathroom of three stalls, was every one of them always left in the same terrifying state? Was it a group effort? Could one single person somehow be doing it? And did they themselves find the toilets in a similar state when they showed up? How did they deal with it? They were animals, and they've made my life so hard.
I once mentioned the map to a co-worker of mine, who told me that he "usually likes to take care of that at home." If only I could. If my business could be conducted each morning in the cleanliness and comfort of my own bathroom, how happy I'd be, but unfortunately my internal workings just aren't moving that early in the day. It takes until round about 10:00 a.m. for the boiler to heat up, forcing me to slink off to the nearest safety zone on the map.***
It wasn't always the state of cleanliness that forced me to keep a map. Sometimes, it was the facility itself. I can not understand why so many toilet stalls in the United States are only shoulder-height. I will tell you right now and without shame that I stand up. I've never been able to figure out how those who remain seated are able to tell when they've finished -- when they've drawn an ace, so to speak -- or how they deal with the terrible possibility that their hand may come into contact with water, requiring its immediate amputation. Done right, one must stand, and when one stands he should not be forced to look out over the top of the stall at all the other people in the room, his hands busy down below doing everybody-knows-what, and everyone trying to ignore it but generally having this feeling that something is definitely going unsaid here, but to acknowledge it would be such a departure from the civilized world that it would make everyone involved want to cry. God help him if the door to the restroom opens within line-of-sight, bringing the other diners in the restaurant or shoppers in the store into the equation. Most other countries have stalls that go down to the floor and all the way up to the ceiling, effectively giving you a private little room. America, why must you make it so undignified?
Even worse was my junior high school. The toilet stalls in the locker room had no door. Why? Why is this? It has only fueled my contempt for the physical education system, and to anyone who maintains that my disdain comes from my being out of shape and a general, all-around wussiness, I ask you, I ask you because apparently you must think this is OK: why are there no doors on the toilets in the locker room?
The only one who ever used these toilets was the gym teacher himself. He was also the only one who used the showers. Every day after gym class he'd take a shower, tackle shamelessly flopping around in front of a room full of 13-year-olds, then walk naked down to the doorless toilets, have a seat, and go to town. Grapes of Wrath did not prepare me to deal with a situation this undignified. A friend of mine said -- and this is wisdom I've always kept with me -- that no man should ever be forced to look into the eyes of another, who is taking a shit.
When I start my company marketing maps of safe and discreet bathrooms for every city in the world, this will be our slogan.
* Pizza Hut, S. Riverside, Medford, Oregon.
** Bank of America, Otis Dr., Alameda, California.
*** HR department
Ever since I was a young boy, I've maintained a map in my head of all the safe toilets in my surroundings: A restaurant with bathrooms near the door where one could slip in undetected, do his business, and get out, for example*, or a business with customers coming in and out at all times**. For several years my favorite was the local city hall; I enjoyed knowing first-hand that my tax dollars really were working for me.
Acquiring a car in high school expanded my map greatly -- and thank God it did. To this day I've seen few bathrooms to rival those of my high school: toilets befouled and unflushed, and always seemingly used only moments before my arrival. Who were these people, I often wondered? Why couldn't they flush? Did they think it was funny? Funny not to flush? What kind of person thinks that's funny? And why, in a bathroom of three stalls, was every one of them always left in the same terrifying state? Was it a group effort? Could one single person somehow be doing it? And did they themselves find the toilets in a similar state when they showed up? How did they deal with it? They were animals, and they've made my life so hard.
I once mentioned the map to a co-worker of mine, who told me that he "usually likes to take care of that at home." If only I could. If my business could be conducted each morning in the cleanliness and comfort of my own bathroom, how happy I'd be, but unfortunately my internal workings just aren't moving that early in the day. It takes until round about 10:00 a.m. for the boiler to heat up, forcing me to slink off to the nearest safety zone on the map.***
It wasn't always the state of cleanliness that forced me to keep a map. Sometimes, it was the facility itself. I can not understand why so many toilet stalls in the United States are only shoulder-height. I will tell you right now and without shame that I stand up. I've never been able to figure out how those who remain seated are able to tell when they've finished -- when they've drawn an ace, so to speak -- or how they deal with the terrible possibility that their hand may come into contact with water, requiring its immediate amputation. Done right, one must stand, and when one stands he should not be forced to look out over the top of the stall at all the other people in the room, his hands busy down below doing everybody-knows-what, and everyone trying to ignore it but generally having this feeling that something is definitely going unsaid here, but to acknowledge it would be such a departure from the civilized world that it would make everyone involved want to cry. God help him if the door to the restroom opens within line-of-sight, bringing the other diners in the restaurant or shoppers in the store into the equation. Most other countries have stalls that go down to the floor and all the way up to the ceiling, effectively giving you a private little room. America, why must you make it so undignified?
Even worse was my junior high school. The toilet stalls in the locker room had no door. Why? Why is this? It has only fueled my contempt for the physical education system, and to anyone who maintains that my disdain comes from my being out of shape and a general, all-around wussiness, I ask you, I ask you because apparently you must think this is OK: why are there no doors on the toilets in the locker room?
The only one who ever used these toilets was the gym teacher himself. He was also the only one who used the showers. Every day after gym class he'd take a shower, tackle shamelessly flopping around in front of a room full of 13-year-olds, then walk naked down to the doorless toilets, have a seat, and go to town. Grapes of Wrath did not prepare me to deal with a situation this undignified. A friend of mine said -- and this is wisdom I've always kept with me -- that no man should ever be forced to look into the eyes of another, who is taking a shit.
When I start my company marketing maps of safe and discreet bathrooms for every city in the world, this will be our slogan.
* Pizza Hut, S. Riverside, Medford, Oregon.
** Bank of America, Otis Dr., Alameda, California.
*** HR department