Some people call them “bathrooms.” This is strange. For the most part they contain no bath tubs so I’m not really sure how that’s supposed to work. False advertising I say.
Some refer to them as “restrooms.” Also odd. There’s very little I find restful about these facilities, especially public ones, especially with little people who must EXPERIENCE every surface with as many body parts as possible.
In Canada they’ve decided to go for positive message reinforcement. They call them “washrooms” to remind all people that no matter how much you’ve experienced in the room, there’s always a simple solution — WASHING yourself.
This comforts me.
Especially when I go into washrooms as nasty as the one where I found this sign:
Now, if I saw a sign like this in a washroom where someone had accidentally spilled a piece of urine, I might go up to the employee and inform her of the unfortunate marring of her otherwise fabulous palace of human waste.
However, when the washroom itself seems to be made of sludge, with greasy grime so thick I could carve my name on the walls with the lollipop stick on the floor behind the toilet… if I could pry it loose, I assume the employees know exactly what the room looks like or they’re blind. And if they’re blind, I’d really not like to be the one to force them to swab that scum-hole.
In other washroom news, I found Canada to be rich in baby changing tables. I found these instructions amusing:
If my child is old enough to lay out a table liner, fasten herself in, change herself, and dispose of the garbage, I figure she’s old enough to be left unattended whether or not stars will spurt out of her head. She’s probably old enough to be potty trained too, come to think of it.
