Desperate Women, Desperate situations


I fear only women will find this blog read-worthy, but I wish male architects, toilet cleaners, and re-suppliers would keep these images in mind when they design ladies’ restrooms and take care of the maintenance.

How many times have you walked up to a public restroom and looked at a line of women wrapped around a hallway waiting for a restroom stall?  More often than not, I dare say.

Women of the world, is this scenario familiar?

You wait in line with every muscle in your being clenched so tightly you don’t dare breathe.  You start counting the number of ladies in front of you.  Only twelve.  Any children?  That triples the time to enter a stall.  You count the number of stalls, six. Then you carefully calculate the minutes of your wait.  This comes three to four minutes if all goes well.

Once you enter the stall, you notice there’s no tissue and the lock doesn’t work.  Desperately you search for a purse hanger on the back of the door.  Nope, that’s broken off.  You search for tissue to cover seat.  Rats, this dispenser is empty too.

While trying to get your pants down before you wet on them, you are forced to hang a twenty pound handbag around your neck, lock one foot across the door to prevent someone from slapping you in the head with it, and artfully pose your rear just at the right angle above the bowl.  You use one hand to gather your pants and underwear to prevent them from touching the floor.  You wonder: when was this rest room last inspected?  2010?

It’s not easy to stand on one leg and stay positioned over the bowl while digging for a Kleenex in the bottom of a purse hanging around your neck.

But you think you remember maybe a few weeks ago, you stuffed one in your bag when you wrapped a piece of discarded gum  your grandchild had stuck to your palm.  If only it’s still there.

But the more you dig in your bag, the more stress the handbag puts on your neck. Then you see that you have leaned so far down, you can now see the back wall of the stall between your legs.  A trembling starts in the one leg supporting your weight.  A muscle cramp seizes the hip joint of the leg you have locked against the door.

About that time your glasses slip off and land on the floor.  No, this rest room hasn’t been cleaned since 2000.  Nor is that one Kleenex sufficient.  Using only your fourth and little fingers you manage to aid the left hand in pulling up your underwear and pants while you brace the door shut with your back.

Naturally, you find no soap or paper towels.  Either faucet blows out cold water with enough pressure to splatter the front of your clothes.  While you briskly rub your hands together, the dryer might completely blow dry your hands in the year 2015.

By then you decide to hell with it, slam on your germy glasses, wipe your hands on the thighs of your pants, and limp out the door.  But not before making a blanket announcement to every desperate lady in line, “There are no seat covers, toilet paper, hand soap, or hot water, and the door lock was broken on the stall I was in.”

In a flash every lady starts looking in her purse and asking, “Does anyone have any extra Kleenex and Germ-X?”

This is a cycle that continues around the world in every public restroom every day.

Why don’t men face these hardships?

It doesn’t seem to bother them.  When I’ve been forced to stand in line beside a men’s restroom, the stench is stifling.  A woman can only hold her breath and muscles just so long.








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