What fiend from hell is put in charge of designing the stalls in
public rest rooms for women? The engineer in point must be dyslexic,
spatially challenged, and... male.
Granted, I'm more than average large from side to side and thus prone
to notice the lack of horizontal distance between the walls. I've
been in stalls where the sides seem eager to meet and trap the
occupant in the middle like the creme filling in an Oreo sandwich.
But the minimal width is then compromised by the addition of a paper
dispenser the size of a suburban house. This monster is stuck on the
wall so as to reduce the total space by a critical 7 inches right
about at hip level where a woman needs the space most.
And the door. You women know exactly where I'm going, right? That
blasted door opens inward, barely clearing the front of the toilet
seat. Look! It swings freely! The design works! Of course the person
entering has nowhere to stand while closing said door since the space
inside is so compact. There is hardly room on either side of the seat
so one attempts to straddle the chair, juggling purse, parcels, and
in my case a cane, while groping behind to close the door. If you get
the door closed there is the complicated variety of fastening
mechanisms that, after the first week of use, seldom line up to lock
without a struggle. Now that you are inside try to find a spot to
hang purse, bags, cane, coat. The hook, if there was one, succumbed
to gravity long ago and left a forlorn hole in the wall.
If you have accomplished entry and closure of the door and managed
the task for which you came, you get to decode the means of flushing
the toilet. Handle? Foot pedal? Floor button? Or those automatics
whose red eye watches as you escape your cell, then flush just as the
next person enters? She not only gets to view what you have done but
gets scared to death when the toilet gushes in greeting.
Now that you're out of the stall another adventure awaits you as you
negotiate the sink architecture and choices of hand drying
apparatuses. Yes, nowhere to hang or perch your purse as you wash. No
wonder women require so much time in the rest room while men
impatiently pace about outside. We've had to juggle, to contort, and
to decipher complex engineering riddles. By the time we leave we are
almost in need of going back.
My husband says I've written about this before but then he's heard
repeated diatribes on the subject. Like every time I require use of a
ladies public bathroom. He says it's great being a guy.
