Monday, 4/28/97 Pondering mysteries of that most fundamental of
rooms Exploring toilet sociology reveals difference in attitudes
between the sexes
"When you gotta go, you gotta go." -author unknown The needs of
the bladder and/or colon have engendered a societal fascination
with places of relief. Also known as the rest room, the Loo,
bathroom, or in more fundamental terms, the toilet, I find that the
basic differences between the Men’s room and the Ladies’ room can
account for many of the misunderstandings that occur between men
and women. It has become increasingly obvious to me that men and
women have entirely different experiences in the facilities. Of
course, it is common knowledge that women travel in herds, take
extraordinary amounts of time, and discuss salaciously juicy gossip
in the Powder Room, but the rituals of men remain relatively
clandestine. What do men do in the bathroom? I do not know. Though
roughly fifty percent of the world’s population could cohesively
answer this question, it would still be impossible to understand
the solitary, swift efficiency of male trips of relief. What makes
a good bathroom? This question forms one of the fundamental
differences within this issue. Personally, and as a woman, I feel
good bathrooms have stall doors that close, toilet seat covers and
plenty of toilet paper. Paper towels are also indispensible. I hate
the blistering and cumbersome dryers that spew hot air at my hands.
Men are much more simplistic. My survey on men’s rest rooms
revealed that a good restroom is one that does not smell: "If it
doesn’t smell, it’s fine." Women feel the need to discuss rest
rooms, and, as a result, they have developed a bathroom report.
"How was it?" forms the crucial question, followed by the
information: "It was clean", or "No toilet paper; I would wait."
The Bathroom Report exemplifies the evolution of communication; it
conveys the smallest of details in the most telling of tones. As
evidence between the gender differences regarding the Bathroom
Report, I offer this small anecdote. One pleasant day, while having
afternoon tea with my family in an expensive hotel, my mother
insisted that I go explore the bathroom. "You must go. It is", she
informed me, "quite possibly this city’s nicest bathroom." I
ventured down and admired the detailed tiling, pristine cleanliness
and comfortable lounge area of the facility. Upon return to the
table, no less than fifteen minutes were devoted to the discussion
of the bathroom’s virtues. My mother and I were in complete
agreement and understanding over the fascination of the topic. "So
grand," we intoned, "I love the choice between paper towels and air
dryers." Witty and amusing as this conversation was, the men of the
table, consisting of my father and cousin, expressed, if not
complete boredom, actual disgust over the topic. "Who cares about a
bathroom?" they disgruntled, "You’re in, you’re out." I have
expanded the Bathroom Report one step further into a full bathroom
rating system. Developed while travelling through Europe and Asia,
I have christened my method the Fly System. Similar to the way
famous gourmets rate excellent restaurants with stars, I rate
superior bathrooms with flies. However while the amount of stars is
directly proportionate to the quality of the food, fittingly, the
number of flies is inversely proportionate to the merit of the
bathroom (at times, literally the amount of flies counted). The
toilets of Europe, Asia and America have all spawned ratings
anywhere from ten flies (squat pots) to negative ten flies. These
negative fly facilities are among the finest in the world; they are
complete with all the aforementioned qualifications as well as
grandeur-marble sinks, perfumed lotion and, once, macadamia nut
snacks. The bathrooms in airplanes confuse me. They are so
incredibly tiny; I am a small person, yet I still find them
distinctively minute. The ear-splitting vacuum flush frightens me;
it is so sudden that I feel I will also be sucked down. "Please
wipe down the sink as a courtesy to your fellow passengers"
proclaims a sign, yet almost all airplane passengers ignore this
manifesto leaving, instead, a sink filled with murky water. But the
main problem with these airplane bathrooms is that they are unisex.
As a result, the seat is always left up and there are always
suspicious puddles on the floor. I hate bathroom attendants. They
make me extremely uncomfortable, especially when I am the sole
bathroom user – I know they are listening. They turn on the water,
pump the soap, hold out a towel; these are all tasks that I could
accomplish quite happily by myself. Some people are fascinated by
them, but I feel that they undermine the quality of a bathroom. I
cannot perform idle small talk when there are other more pressing
issues on my mind. Then there is the issue of tipping. I rarely
carry small change, and now I know, from listening to the enquiry
of a fellow bathroom user, that you cannot tip on a credit card.
Bathroom use is a universal need. Everyone, from the bourgeoisie to
the proletariat, the female to the male, requires facilities for
relief. Perhaps, in exploring these differences, the dread
regarding the use of public bathrooms can be overcome.