The Lavatory Airlock of Instant Death
In order to get into my building’s restroom, you have to go through two doors. The first leads to an elevator-sized room with a second door on the other end, less than an arms-length away, which leads in turn into the restroom proper. This tiny, useless vestibule is a place of great peril, as the first door opens into it. As a result, if you are so unfortunate as to be exiting the bathroom just as someone else is entering, you will be greeted by a dark, massive, hurtling, sharp-edged portal, speeding toward you. It will strike you, and you will die. Instantly.
Life is filled with peril. There is a species of Dire Goldfish in Australia that subsists entirely on human earlobes, which it snips off of swimmers it has impaled on its ten-foot-long barbed lance-tail. There is a certain shade of yellow that drives ferrets into a murderous death-frenzy: a small village in Sweden was entirely destroyed by ravening ferret hordes after the local breeder repainted their hutches in what he deemed happier springtime colors. There are beagles in this world who can transform their tiny, cute little bodies into hurtling death-missiles, terrorizing the unwary and eating their children. All of this is well-documented.
But, I ask you, why should we bring peril on ourselves? What possible reason could there be to engineer a bathroom entrance that guarantees a quick and painful death for those unfortunates who need to empty their bladders? I’ve considered the possibilities:
Odor Discouragement: The lavatory is not a sweet-swelling place. It is, after all, the borderland between the interior and exterior realms of our bodies, where the ickiness pooling inside of us escapes briefly to freedom before it’s flushed into oblivion. So perhaps that tiny intermediary death-room is supposed to be an airlock, insulating unwary passersby from the malodiferous machinations within. If so, then it is a total failure. There is no sealing mechanism, no depressurization step, no guarantee that the inner door is secured before the outer opens. If this is an airlock, it is the worst airlock ever.
Privacy: It may be that the designers imagined that they were giving the men’s room some measure of privacy with a double-layer of life-imperiling doors. If so, then they are silly, because: (1) we men value our lives more than our privacy; (2) we don’t value our privacy at all. Seriously. We are a coarse and unpleasant sex, and the only thing that keeps us from just squatting in the halls when the mood strikes us is the vague notion that women may find this behavior objectionable, and thus refuse to have drinks with us after work. We can’t imagine why, but we think this might be so.
Headcount Reduction: In the charming lingo of corporate America, employee/cogs are often referred to as “headcount,” which is, if I’m not mistaken, the same term ranchers use to describe their cows. Since language is destiny, this terminology makes it easier for the powers that be to “trim” their “headcount”. Usually, this is done through “reductions,” or layoffs. But layoffs are a messy business, involving as they do personal interaction with the heads in question, followed perhaps by tears, recriminations, and other reminders that one is dealing with other thinking beings. Much easier, then, to replace “reductions” with “terminations.” An unruly or unproductive headcount could be dealt with quickly and easily with a tragic/fortuitous restroom accident. I do not think my current employer capable of such calculations, of course, but who knows who occupied this building when it was first built? We are, after all, in the amoral heart of Washington, DC.
Whatever the reason, I now take extraordinary measures to reduce my restroom visits as much as possible, and often stumble out of work dehydrated and half-starved. There has to be a better way.
1 Comment