“Your roses really smell like poo-poo-oo”
Women’s, B- grade
Appearance: Any clean appearance this loo had was eclipsed by the smell, so lets skip straight to it.
Smell: Oh dear God. Who poos in a busy cafe toilet?? The entire room stank, and though the toilet itself looked clean of skidmarks, the moment I sat down on its warm seat I knew I’d been had: this was the pooer’s cubicle. Coincidentally, I had earlier been listening to Outkast’s ‘Roses’.
NOTE: Since I wrote this, it’s really been playing on my mind about who poos in a busy cafe toilet and I’ve had to conclude it was one of the many harassed mothers there with children that morning, who found more peace and quiet in a busy public loo than their own toilet.
Paper: Industrial bog roll, standard.
Flush: Is that tiny button in the middle for a full flush? I always equate small button to half flush, but this was clearly back to front.
Washing: Lovely foaming handwash, ruined by the cruddy hand dryer that first didn’t register my presence and then kept stopping. It was like a hairdryer on the lowest setting = useless.
Best: The woman in the cubicle next to me had the hiccups and swore under her breath at her own weird noises.
Worst: The door was wide open so when you’re washing your hands you can see the people in the carriage eating. It didn’t seem right.