Toilet Stall Diatribe

Picture this. I am in the train station with my roller bag and tote. Of course I should go to the bathroom before I board to minimize the times I must go while being jostled and swayed and shoved by sudden jolts, to the severe detriment of my pants.

So into the restroom I go, and here is my point: Why oh why oh why do they make toilet stall doors open inward?? I would much rather watch that I don’t get smacked in the head by an opening door than go through the trauma that awaits me. 

The stall is too darn small, and the door opens inward! You pull your suitcase in and wedge yourself into the wall so that you can lift the suitcase over to the other side. The toilet is a precarious ½ inch from you and just teeming with germs, bacteria and viruses and other horrible things that you will never recover from if you touch it with any part of your body. You inch the suitcase over; you inch yourself over; you finally manage to clear the door so you can shut it. Aaii! The evil toilet is looming!

What happens next is for a different diatribe, but rest assured the whole process must be repeated to flee the murderous toilet cell, but at least at this point you don’t have to hold it in as well as inching and lifting and sliding and pushing and pulling and, of course, swearing.

I am so traumatized by this state of affairs that I often have dreams of searching searching searching for a bathroom and finally I find a huge, stadium type restroom with scores of stalls, but….when I open the stall door and try to get in, there is no way I can get past the door to reach the toilet of my nirvana.

Public restroom designers, awake! Take your place as the savior of humanity! Insist that your doors open outward!


© 2008 Margery Leveen Sher