About a year ago, my boss negotiated a new lease for our
office. A condition of said lease was an upgrade to the bathrooms.
We've been there for over 20 years, so it was overdue.
Upon my arrival about six years ago, the women’s bathroom
had a host of handyman interventions that told the story of evolving code
compliance and years of commercial businesses made up mostly of women. To start
with, it had pink tile walls with a baby blue sheet vinyl floor. How stereotypical can you get. There were two stalls, two sinks, a
large mirror, no vents, and fluorescent lights that made everyone look bad
(although sufficiently bright for a zip popping sesh). The double sinks each had a countertop soap dispenser, as well as a wall mounted option, providing a
weekly surprise as to which bladder the cleaning staff had filled over the
weekend. The left side, which also
had a protruding motion sensor paper towel dispenser mounted adjacent to the
recessed combo paper towel waste can unit mounted adjacent to an always-empty
10 cent sanitary napkin dispenser, had a rusted out hole next to the drain,
which slowly dribbled water to the floor creating a workman’s comp nightmare by
the end of each day. When using this sink, I had to position myself
carefully to not get soapy water on my shoes or unnecessarily dispense a roll
of excess paper towels. Although
once three, the two current metal stalls generally fit the space, but the
installer had little regard for bathroom politics given the large gaps along
the hinges that provided a full, direct view, of the female user. One gap was filled daily with a new
sheet of dangling toilet paper due to its direct line of sight for anyone
entering the bathroom. And each
night, the cleaning crew threw it away.
The toilets were not much to speak of other than being so low I sometimes wondered if I'd entered an elementary school bathroom. The stall
with the big peeping Tom gap had evidence of its ADA retrofit, including an ill-placed
grab bar directly across the toilet paper holder and sanitary napkin disposer
and a capped off toilet stub poking through the pink tile wall. While sitting idly in that stall, I couldn’t help but ponder whether, under the right flushing conditions of the
tenants in the upper floors, would the jury-rigged cap come flying off, sending
a hose of waste fluid shooting through the gaping privacy divide and onto the
unsuspecting woman washing her hands.
Thankfully, that never actually happened.
Needless to say, I laid rest to my waste in this bathroom
without too much complaint, but was delighted to hear of the pending upgrade.
After a six-week closure, and never remembering to not wait until the last
might to bleed the lizard or send the kids to the pool because the elevator to
the 3rd floor bathroom was painfully slow, our new bathroom was
unveiled. To my surprise, after
all those weeks of watching the hallway calamity, including the hazardous
materials tents, electricians in the ceiling tiles, and masons with a stack of
shining ceramics and a fancy slab of granite, the bathroom was in no better
condition. In fact, I’d venture to
say it was worse. The finishes were indeed all changed out, for the better, but
the individual components were installed piece meal by each trade without the
end user in mind. The colors are better, cream and green instead of pink and
blue. The new green wall
tiles cover up the extra toilet pipes, but they just refurbished the existing stalls so the privacy gap persists. Everyday, the toilet paper drape is
hung, and every night is disposed with pile of used paper towels. The sinks,
facets, soap dispensers, and counter were replaced, and the extra parts
removed. Compact fluorescent
recessed cans replaced the large fluorescent tubes, but the new lights are
positioned over the floor instead of the sink so my face is always in the
dark while standing in front of the mirror. This makes contact lenses difficult, as well as make-up
application, not to mention my irregular craving for extraction. However, all in all, these are
manageable for me. The real kicker
to the bathroom upgrade is the new low-flow toilets. They nearly always leave skid marks. They appear as little claw scrapes or
as tire-sized welts, and they always emerge. As if dropping a duce in the public restroom isn’t
inconvenient enough. As if the
stink bomb from last night’s beer binge isn’t prominent enough. As if
making gravy when I want to make logs isn’t mortifying enough. Now, I always
get to leave a memento of my accomplishments, paying homage to my
gastrointestinal tract for all my coworkers to bear witness,… unless I flush
like five times. Thank you
low-flow toilet, I really think you are making a valuable impact.
