This is the 350th post on Witz Pickz!! Now, I realize I've taken a bit since my last post, but 350 is monumental, and I didn't want to post something until I had content that reflects the level of class, quality, and hilarity that Witz Pickz stands for:
Let's talk about toilets. Last weekend I was at a concert at Webster Hall, on the lower level, drinking, hanging out, and noticing a tremendous chasm in the quality of the male and female bathrooms. I know this is usually the case, but this was too flagrant not to inspect further-- just looking at the exteriors, it was like they built a Six Flags directly across the street from the last place cows see before they are slaughtered.
The women's bathroom has a well lit antechamber with an attendant and couches. From there, I was told, is a spacious, individually stalled, well-lit, clean bathroom. Oh, did I mention what the attendant has in the antechamber? CANDY. Expensive candy, but candy. That's how the women's bathroom rolls. Clean, relaxing, built to meet your needs-- like how middle-aged women view Kevin Kline. You can get the general idea from this picture:
Now, cut to the men's bathroom. As you can see from the picture below, the glowing neon sign leads you down a dark, brick walled, rape alley into a room that makes Shutter Island look like The Magic Kingdom. One thing stands out right away-- no, not the tightly packed urinal trough, though it has one-- it's the lighting. What's the last thing you'd want to have in a bathroom? No, I mean besides a baby. BLACKLIGHTS. I skipped the urinal menage a trois, which must have looked like a lightsaber battle, and gave the single stall a shot-- bad idea. Bathrooms, inevitably, and obviously, contain everything in this world you do not want lit up by a blacklight. Having a blacklight in a public bathroom of a bar gives it an interesting atmosphere: the place looks like the aftermath of a Saw movie. When I was done peeing slash throwing up in my mouth, I hurried to the sink.
The signage above the entrance is false advertising, as there are no "Gentlemen" in this bathroom. Instead, ridiculously situated just inside the already over-filled space, just opposite the sink, is a thugged out guy behind a counter. Don't get me wrong-- he's not a bathroom attendant-- unless attending a bathroom means staring menacingly at anyone who enters and exits, making peeing feel like an incredibly vulnerable act, and sporadically fighting with two other random guys standing nearby. DID I MENTION THAT THE WOMEN'S ROOM SELLS CANDY?? Girls are in there buying three dollar packets of peanut M&M's, while guys shake uncontrollably in fear, wondering who the asshole was that said "Candyman" five times.
"How was it?" the girl in our group asked me when I came back out.
"That bathroom looks like it denied a gypsy woman a home loan," I quickly replied.
"Hahah, M&M?" she offered.
"Maybe that'll help me feel better...if it's a blue one," I told her.
"Well...at least you'll have something to blog about."
And she was right. Four years, three-hundred and fifty posts, highs, lows, shame, glory, and the magical space where the two come together; and a story about bathrooms still seems like a good idea. Thanks for readin'.
I Promise I'll Get Out More,