Magnificent Facilities

"Anywhere in the city, I can tell you the best public toilet."
"OK.  Fifty-fourth and Sixth"
"Sperry Rand Building, 14th floor.  Morgan Apparel. Mention my name, she'll give you the key."
"Alright; Sixty-fifth and Tenth."
"Are you kidding?  Lincoln Center, Alice Tully Hall, the Met- magnificent facilities!"

Ritz Paris.  Tres bien.

There are 2 kinds of people in the world- those who are constantly searching for bathrooms, and those who aren't.  Sadly, I fall into the first category.  I'm also a bit of a germophobe, so I'm not looking for just anywhere, if you know what I mean.  I'm sure there's an app for this, and I probably should have invented it.  Then again, who wants to give away the locations all the good bathrooms, oops, sorry America, I mean restrooms? Luckily for me, this blog has approximately zero readers, so I can post the best options without fear of them being overrun.

Although I have never had the pleasure of using George Kostanza's recommendations, I am certainly a connoisseur in my own right.  On our most recent trip to New York, I would say the Waldorf was useful in midtown.  The restrooms were clean and easily accessible, and bore remnants of their art deco glory days.  You could almost picture the women of The Women gossiping and catfighting in there.  The biggest surprise, however, was the McDonald's at Union Square.  New, well stocked, and as clean as anywhere else I'd seen in the city.  McD's can be hit-or-miss; there are a few here in Toronto I wouldn't use on a bet, and I've been to The Subway Inn!

The Subway Inn.  NOT magnificent facilities!

Years ago, I discovered the restrooms in Bryant Park behind the Public Library. Since they were basically outdoors, I figured they'd be on par with a gas station in the bad part of Buffalo (yup- been there), but I discovered polished wood, an attendant, and fresh flowers.  A happy surprise indeed.

In Toronto,  the current downtown champion is the Shangri- La Hotel.  New, expansive, and pristine. If you're in the mood to shop, go uptown to Yorkdale.  It's an ever-expanding retail heaven, and the new facilities there would not be out of place at the French embassy.

Speaking of France, in Paris, the Ritz Hotel was my favourite pit stop, but it's closed for a massive renovation.  When it reopens, the security will probably be tightened, keeping the likes of me out on the street.  What I liked about the Ritz is that the toilets were sort of hidden; the doors were glass walls, and you had to know where to push.  Once you got inside, though, you were rewarded.  With Parisian hotels, the secret is to be dressed well and act like you own the place, then you can confidently barge past the doorman.  This tactic worked for me a few years ago at the Crillon, after massive Champagne consumption on an empty stomach had me stopping every few blocks on the walk back to our hotel.

Let's face it- facilities may start out magnificent, but it's the way people use them that determines if they stay that way. I'm looking at you, hoverers.

Ladies, when you hover, you make more of a mess than if you just sat your ass on the seat, so clean it up!  What kills me is that these are the bitches who are all "Ooh, public toilet seats are dirty", but they leave the bathroom looking like someone shook up and opened a can of ginger ale in there.  Gross.  You are gross.

Sometimes I'll enter a stall and immediately spin around in horror.  I have seen things in the restrooms at work where I literally cannot figure out what configuration you'd have to take with your body to get the result you left behind.  It'd take a CSI team to figure it out.

Of course, when all else fails, just look for a Starbucks.  I think that the purchase of a Starbucks beverage enters you into a covenant with the entire chain, allowing you bathroom privileges worldwide.  They have the balls to charge me $4 for a black tea lemonade;  the least they can do is hand over the key when I need it.

What's the Deal with Charmin?*

Eewww.

I take issue with Charmin super thick toilet paper.  Is it me, or are they starting to miss the mark when it comes to what you need from toilet paper?  The commercials say it's so thick, you can use a quarter of what you normally use, but at some point, this doesn't compute.

With toilet paper, you need area, not just density, am I right? I'm sorry, but a super absorbent piece of Charmin the size of a postage stamp will not get the job done.

So, Charmin, maybe stop making the toilet paper so thick it feels like I'm using an area rug, and a roll lasts about 2 days.  You've passed the point of diminishing returns. (Also, enough with the cartoon bears talking about skid marks and whatnot. Gross.)

*There is a reason I have named my blog after Seinfeld characters, people.

People- They're the Worst.

This book is desperately needed by some of my neighbours.

We celebrated on Sunday, so on actual Thanksgiving, the BF and I went to the only grocery store open in the area, to pick up a few things.  So, it seems, did everyone else in the city.  The parking lot was full, cars were illegally parked everywhere, and when we left, there were cars stretched around the block trying to get into the lot.  In the store, there were people buying the whole nine yards- turkeys, potatoes, veggies, pumpkin pies.  I have a grudging respect for people who don't plan their Thanksgiving dinners until noon the day of; it's absolutely the opposite of someone like me.

Anyway, the BF dropped me off with my groceries.  I was carrying a case of Diet Coke, a huge bag of groceries, a wrapped bouquet of flowers, and my stuffed purse.  None of the other people going into my condo held the door for me, but it was OK, I caught it with my leg. I got into the elevator with 2 people, neither of whom were holding anything.  As my hands were full, I waited a second for someone to say "which floor?" and make the incredible effort of raising an arm to press a button, but neither did. They both just pretended I wasn't there.  So, I took a deep breath, juggled my bags, rested the Diet Coke on my knee, and reached forward to hit 22.

The guy got off before me, dragging his little dog, who seemed not to want to go with him.  Even your dog thinks your an asshole, I thought.  The next stop was mine.  As I got off, I considered exiting with a sarcastically cheerful "Happy Thanksgiving!", but I surprised myself by saying with a smile, "Die in a fire!"  That chick will tell her friends about the crazy bitch in the elevator, oblivious to her part in the story. Worth it.

As it was Thanksgiving, let me say I am thankful to have been brought up to be the sort of person who will hold a door or push a button for you.

Air Canada to Paris

People watching from Les Deux Magots

I am about to make a controversial statement- one that may cause some of you to question my sanity:

I like Air Canada.  I'm sorry, but it's true. I've never had a problem with them that wasn't weather related, and they've never lost my luggage (I check only on the way home).  Yes, the flight attendants are as friendly as diner waitresses working the midnight shift, but as long as they bring me Diet Coke when I need it, I'm cool.  Frankly, I am not one to want to sing Happy Birthday to my fellow travelers anyway (sorry, West Jet). The planes are new, the TVs plentiful, and the food is, well, free.

When we flew to Paris last month, it was on old familiar AC 880, which we've taken several times before.  We got to the airport too early, of course.  No bags to check (truly, you don't need to check luggage.  I've done 2 weeks in Europe no problem, though I suspect traveling to a cold climate would pose problems, but why the hell would anyone want to do that?) All we had to endure was passing through security. I often get an extra pat down, or have my hands checked for explosives.  I think I am the Token White Lady, you know? The last time we were in the Bahamas, I got a pat down (rather, a feel up), from an eager lady that surely should have resulted in a marriage proposal.  She started at the top, worked her way down, then went back to the top! "Oh, we're going again!", I said jokingly, as she patted and squeezed (they're real, honey).  "She got further with you than I did this week", the BF sulked. But I digress...