between West 62nd and 65th Streets and Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues

If Dante had drank a little too much wine before entering the Inferno, he probably would have found himself confusedly stumbling through the basement of the Met Opera House, looking for the public restroom. Indeed, we ran into a homeless wino claiming to be the Italian poet. Half expecting the security guards stationed in this netherworld to offer us a ferry ride, we at last found the bathroom, its state befitting its location, as if Lincoln Center were ashamed of it. Besides being under the building, the whole area preceding the bathroom, as well as the bathroom itself, was excessively hot, probably due to no air flow, as we visited in August. Whether it remains so in winter (which would at least provide some advantage), or is in fact freezing (easily possible, as no air conditioning often goes hand in hand with no heating), is ultimately of little consequence.

The bathroom is a shrine to mediocrity. Tired old floor-length urinals in the men’s room indicate that it is still stuck in the dark ages of restroom design. Floor length urinals bring to mind only one thing: mental institutions. Devilish fluorescent lighting assails the visitor like photonic harpies, stalls are out of order, a depressing grey floor tiling gnaws at your feet, and a general feeling of uncleanliness abounds. Abandon every hope, ye who enter here.

Rating: 3

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