One of the magazines here in Bangkok did a rundown a few years back of the best bathrooms in town (so I heard; I didn’t see the article). The winner was one of the better hotel clubs/restaurants-- they had a STRING QUARTET playing in the ladies’ room.
(Of course, I guess it’s extra embarrassing when you inadvertently add your own accompaniment to the music…)
Yeah, like Adagio For Strings With Frequent Wind Interruptions.
That has to be one weird job description: me? oh, I play the cello in the shitter.
The only bathrooms I’ve found with attendants have been at nightclubs and occasionally at concerts. The last one was this past weekend when my sisters took me out for sushi and drinks afterward. The ladies’ room had an attendant sitting on a stool next to the sinks with a little basket with hair spray, a comb, mints, gum, perfume, tampons, mouthwash and (maybe) condoms - I didn’t look too closely as I didn’t need any of that stuff. I think some of the items are for sale (gum, condoms, etc.) and you pay a token sum for the use of others (a spritz of perfume, etc.) She handed me a napkin after I washed my hands, and I made sure to tip her at the end of the evening because she was so nice. My sisters said they get to recognize the bathroom attendants at the clubs they go to after a while. I’m sure these ladies have some interesting stories to tell.
When the Natick Mall in Massachusetts built it’s idiotic “rich person” wing, they added new bathrooms, of course. I have no clue what the men’s room looked like. The ladies’ room, however, was appallingly garish. It had a chandelier. I think there might have been carpeting. There were huge mirrors, plants, couches and armchairs, and expensive bottles of hand cream.
My mother was enthralled. She loves ritzy stuff like that. I hate it. I just wanted to pee, wash, and run. She wanted to loiter. Ugh.
I hate squatters. My sister squats. I don’t understand it and I never will. I have never, in all my 29 years, peed on the seat. I have never bled on the seat. I have never missed the toilet when disposing of my TP. It’s just not necessary.
I worked for one company which had a sitting area in the ladies’ room. It had a couch, loveseat, and armchair. There was also a coffee table, plastic plants, books, magazines, and about 30 years of nicotine staining everything. It was our smoking room. The guys smoked in the factory. The women mostly didn’t work in the factory and we weren’t allowed to smoke in our offices. So, we got the bathroom smoking room. There was another, normal, bathroom which was non-smoking.
My current employer is nice enough to give us a bathroom with one stall, one sink, 8 lockers (two of which have no owners), two(?) paper towel dispensers, two kinds of soap (regular and gritty for greasy/dirty hands) - and most importantly, each of us gets our own keys. See, there is a grand total of 6 women working in the factory (4 now, technically since two no longer run machines but still work out there). There are probably close to 80 or 90 men, spread over the 3 shifts. The men are pigs. Their bathroom smells (it wafts into our bathroom). It’s gross. The women are not slobs. There are too few of us to get away with it. So, we take care of our bathroom. And so, we get our own keys, to keep the men-folk out.
The strangest place I’ve ever seen a bathroom attendant was at the Big E, in Massachusetts. This basically amounts to a massive county (but in this case multi-state) fair. There are rides, food, shows, 4-H contests, and all other kinds of rugged stuff. Why in the hell did they think a bathroom attendant was needed? She accepted tips but had a sign saying she liked treats too. I left her some fried Oreos.
That’s interesting…we went to a huge outdoor flea market a couple of years ago at a county park. The available restrooms were in the county stadium in the park, and there was an attendant in there. I was totally not expecting that.
The fair here (held every fall) also has bathroom attendants. I wonder if that’s a common thing - I always thought it was where old carnies with no money to retire wound up.
As mentioned, the latter. I see the clothing sections in the store with huge signs proclaiming “Mens”, “Womens” and “Childrens” and bleed a little from the ear.
They never told us about this kind of stuff in architecture school.
Maybe it was in third year, after I left.
this comment has me boggling. How did your neighbor die from sleeping on a couch in the ladies’ room?
i’m with you, rigamarole. i read it as the ladies’ room was the cause of death. then thought… no, that can’t be right.
now i’m figuring that it may be heart related. i knew a handful of people who felt a bit tired, said they would take a nap or some words there like, then lie down for a nap that turned out to be eternal. in all the cases heart issues were the cause of death, feeling tired was a common symptom.
i worked in an a and e firm. there were quite a few interesting discussions on bathrooms, from stall amounts to a fasinating detailed discourse on backsplash (urinal related). i learned way to much.
I think he had a heart attack or an aneurysm or something. I’m pretty sure the couch didn’t kill him. However, the co-workers found him in there dead the next day. That must’ve sucked.
I don’t think he died FROM sleeping on the couch, but rather WHILE sleeping on the couch. Obviously, if he felt unwell enough that he needed to lay down, and desperate enough to venture into the ladies’ room to do it (albeit after hours when it wasn’t being used) he must have been already ill.
The bathroom at the place my daughter works at is shared with, and decorated by, the women who work in the next unit over in the industrial park where it it located. It is lovely, with reading material and plants and a heater and a big sign that essentially says, No Boys Allowed. It is also the size of a closet, but at least for a few minutes in every day, working in a deary place, surrounded by crude boys, there is a tiny haven.