“Sticky floor raises questions”
Unisex, B- Grade
Appearance: Kitsch wall paper and detailed tiles obviously blew the budget because there was a sticky, bare stone floor. Took me back to my days as a liquored-up teenager on the dance floors of late-90s English nightclubs.
Smell: It might have been the bloke before me or it could have been intentional but there was a subtle musk in the air. It was a confident toilet alright. Maybe too confident.
Paper: What they saved on having an “outside floor” they made up for with a delightfully strong and soft roll. The best thing about it was that it was encased in this semi-opaque holder. It allows you to see how much paper is left while dodging the whole transparent-perspex-high-school-crapper look.
Flush: There was an unenthusiastic swish. It was so sneaky that someone outside didn’t hear it and began yanking the door handle trying to get in. They had another go about 20 seconds later when I was sniffing the hand soap. Freak.
Washing: Having a hand dryer next to a paper towel dispenser seemed excessive but the dryer didn’t work. Take that Will Smith – robots AREN’T taking over the world, you paranoid nut-job.
Best: The bog roll holder was a lovely touch. They also had Michael Jackson’s GREATEST hit “Don’t stop til you get enough” piped in. The roomy nature of the place meant I could actually whip out a couple of slick moves in front of the mirror just to check I still had it. I did.
Worst: A sticky floor raises a raft of questions, and let me tell you, you can fit a lot of questions on a raft.