I can’t tell you how many times a week I say did you go to the bathroom? before I leave the house with my child. Not because my daughter is incapable of monitoring her bodiliy functions, but because public restrooms are, in general, disgusting. So much, in fact, that I’m shocked when I come across one where there’s an unclogged seat, actual toilet tissue, and the sink doesn’t look like I’d just skirted a plumbing accident. I’m extra floored when paper towels are available instead of the miserable short-circuiting hand-dryer — of course, the updated version of that being the Dyson hurricane blower that’s enough to rip the rings off fingers — neither, in reality, able to perform the act of drying.

The thing that literally bugs the crap out of me, pun not intended, is the perpetual ladies room line. I could be almost anywhere — where I hear crickets from the silence — and end up waiting for a stall. Architects, contractors, our society have not quite figured out that more women go to the bathroom on average, more times than men. Come on. I want that study, please!! But it’s not rocket science people, is it?

While I’m at it, I’d like to instruct the general misinformed on the correct use of the “handicap” stall. To those who think the seat is only for someone in a wheelchair: it’s not a parking space. Personally, I refuse to leave that slot open when I need to pee on the off-chance someone with a scooter might arrive. As far as I’m concerned, “whoever” can schedule her potty visit like the rest of the adult world. Get in the queue like everyone else ladies! It’s maddening, when after waiting an eternity, you realize an idiot at the front of the long line has taken it upon herself not to do the due diligence to check if there’s a pair of feet under each door, holding up the works for the rest. Believe me, when the frustrated crowd figures it out with the “courtroom murmer” of is anyone even in there, the collective rage is palpable.

And, lastly, the hipsters who came up with the brilliant design idea of coed washrooms need to have their heads examined. Really, is this a glimpse into our dystopian future or merely a flimsy attempt to save space? Frankly, I don’t appreciate having to share the primp zone with some other girl’s date at the communial sink. Not to mention inevitable emergencies –it shouldn’t take much to stretch your imagination — menstrual cycles, IBS, men’s sloppy aim. Still think it’s a hot trend? Anyone? Seriously. Anyone? I didn’t think so.

Pam Alster, former stand-up comedienne, Lifetime TV writer & suburban mom brings a decade of living on the dark side to light in her forthcoming debut novel Robin’s Blue. www.pamalster.com




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