Planet of the Grapes

51st Street 7th Avenue

The Michelangelo Hotel looks as fancy as it sounds. The lobby boasts fanciful Victorian furniture and frames with Impressionist paintings on the walls (sorry, Michelangelo). Traversing through the marble hallway to the front desk, a staircase on the right will take you across a balcony and straight to the bathroom. If you are just meeting somebody there for “business,” they have luxurious leather seats and private phone booths made of wood (given the ubiquity of cell phones, are these booths now part of the “art,” a 20th century artifact?).

The bathroom has a light brown marble floor, a standard among the wealthy, just like adultery. The walls boast a tan canvas wallpaper adorned with landscape paintings, a safe choice, like following your father into real estate, but one befitting these environs. Against the brightness of the room are the completely black marble sinks and counter top with individual black soap and tissue dispensers. A wall hook by the urinals in the men’s room allows people to hang their trench coats, because peeing with a coat draped over one arm is so pedestrian. A wall rail allows handicapped people to use the standing urinal, a quite charitable endeavor. On the downside, the stall walls and doors are made of a cheap-looking formica and does a great disservice to the decor. However, if you are a wealthy businessman looking for a little discrete action but can’t use a proper hotel room for whatever reason, the cheap formica among all this affluence is only appropriate.

Rating: 7.5

54th Street & 7th Avenue

Eateries like Cafe Metro are a dime a dozen in the city. The food is “pretty good,” and the place is well lit and colorful. Perhaps it is reminiscent of your single uncle’s apartment. The bathroom of Cafe Metro, unlike the dining area, is not so common. Located in an additional downstairs eating section, it is a very small “oner” with dark gray, brick style tiling. Theses bricks possess a natural rock look and texture to them, perhaps to provide a brief respite from the man made caverns of the New York skyscrapers. Upon further scrutiny, one may find that the toilet is slightly askew, but this does not impede its function (we like to think that about ourselves, thank you). The sink is a marvel: a white porcelain vanity trough built into a stand-alone wooden counter. Pegasus must have drank out of something like this. The faucet comes out of the wall, not visibly connected to the sink at all. Some customers wrongfully exploited such a sink and left water all over the counter.

The thought and design behind this restroom goes above and beyond the call, but there is still a problem with space. The room is very small to begin with, and a garbage can juts out from under the sink. The can is too large to fit inside properly and just gets in the way of things, like the drunk dock worker who somehow got into your last orgy. As for the soap dispenser, it helps if you work out; the mechanism needs a little firm loving. If this is the only blemish, then Cafe Metro is the equivalent of a pink topaz in the rough.

Rating: 7

811 7th Ave at 53rd Street

The Sheraton is no Waldorf, but it’s also no Motel 6. Throughout the country it’s relied on as a solid chain. In New York City, perhaps aware of its place among the giants, The Sheraton puts its best foot forward, like the awkward sophomore who finally got invited to a party thrown by the seniors. And if that is the case, preppy was definitely the wardrobe of choice. The bathroom’s blue wallpaper is comprised of thick, alternating light and dark stripes. This is what Ralph Lauren’s son’s childhood bedroom must have looked like. To continue with that theme, the white marble sinks sit below large mirrors housed in dark wooden frames.

The blue wallpaper only occupies the top half of the walls, the bottom half being a white brick, providing a clean contrast. So far, the effect is quite pleasant and dignified. However, the flooring uses those (quite pedestrian) hexagonal tiles. These are somewhat two-toned; most are white with some blacks thrown in for good measure (need we make an old country club joke?). Looking down at the floor thus produces a sigh of disappointment. It’s as if our aforementioned sophomore wore the right glasses, the right sweater vest, and the right khakis to the party, but put on a pair of beat up Keds–and wasn’t even ironic about it! Flourescent lighting by the stalls detracts from the warm yellows of the lights surrounding the sinks. The bathroom is only being half of what it could be (perhaps one of the parents married down?) At least the blue carpeting in the outside hallway leading to a wooden door made for a nice introduction. Perhaps the Sheraton needs a few more etiquette classes and the right company to make it a champion.

Rating: 6.5

6 Union Square East

Since the late 1990s it seems there has been a growing number of food chains that seek to defy the fast food stigma by offering classier fare like pastries, soups, dolled-up sandwiches, and most importantly, foreign-sounding names. Au bon Pain is at the forefront of the movement with several locations throughout the city.

We were directed to the “additional seating” area after asking for the restroom (and again, we did not buy anything, as we seek to find restrooms the pedestrian can use for free). A few cramped tables in a narrow hallway in the back constituted this “additional seating,” and seeing as how this Au bon Pain is next to Union Square, it’s probably to hide patrons not cool enough to be seen eating by the windows (downtown NY, like high school all over again). We waited in line as employees went in and out of a back storage area, and a large bag of bagels sat there, asking to be taken (we did not, those usually go to shelters). An early warning sign occurred in the form of an unpleasant odor before we even arrived at the restroom. The woman before us actually walked into one of the two “oner” facilities and almost immediately walked back out, shaking her head at us as if to say, “maybe you are braver or stupider than I.” We soon saw the probable cause of her distress: no toilet paper. In certain scenarios, of course, having no toilet paper conjures a similar feeling to being on a life raft in the middle of the ocean and realizing it’s sprung a leak. The puke green-colored door is appropriate when considering the floors and walls evidently do not get cleaned often. This dirty state of affairs is not helped by the fact that the “Employees Must Wash Hands” sign is not in front of the sink, but rather, on the wall opposite the sink, and up top near the ceiling. We realized this was starting to affect our impressions of Au Bon Pain beyond their bathrooms, which essentially possessed no character even if they were cleaner and better-stocked. The hair in the sink put things over the top, but at least if it were an employee’s there’s less of a chance it will end up in the food.

Rating: 3.0

503 Broadway

Located past the fitting room like our previous Banana Republic review, the sibling company “Old Navy” doesn’t care if you sneak in by yourself. Gap, Inc., designed Old Navy like the ratty younger brother who perpetually lives in the mental state of freshman year at college. That way, if Banana’s upscale image turns you off, the company still gets your money in the end. However, Old Navy settles into the neighborhood of SoHo comfortably and embraces the space it occupies by leaving it looking like a warehouse.

Their acceptance of the industrial look would benefit them quite well in their facilities, had they gone all the way with it. But only going halfway with the Bohemian look is the same as when an uptown banker tries to come down to this neighborhood to “pick up artsy chicks”–all the cool kids see right through it. Sorry, but the INC is still the biggest part of Gap, Inc. The bathroom is lit brightly by caged, industrial fixtures. The top third of the wall is left as exposed brick to “legitimize” things, and the floor has a brushed concrete look with half a coat of paint on it. But the stalls, gray as they are, look a little too polished for the image they were going for. Also, there is an odd smell lingering in the air, something that will never be cool no matter how uncool it is. Overall you get the sense that they could have done much more to make it “look the part.”

Rating: 6.5

552 Broadway

Banana Republic has always kept a stiff upper lip when sneering at its rivals in the retail clothing industry. No matter where you go, you can always count on BR to sell the “safe” look. Its presence alone can deter the marginally adventurous shopper from experimenting at the next door leather shop. It comes as no surprise that the establishment is very guarded about their image, but the measures to which the SoHo branch’s bathrooms are kept secure is a bit too much to swallow. When we asked for the bathroom we were lead individually by an attendant through the fitting rooms to a locked restroom where only employees had the key. Once inside, we were able to lock it, though that didn’t make us feel any more welcome.

There are two oners here, and neither one passes the mark of impressive. A brushed marble green tile hugs the lower half of the walls, the only sign of color, the lone plant growing through a crack in the city sidewalk. To the establishment’s credit, the room is kept clean and functional with a few amenities such as toilet seat covers. We were starting to see that the “conservative-with-a-hint-of-personality” aesthetic that informs the clothing also applied to the bathroom design. At least they’re consistent. At the washing station a very wide half-length mirror offers more than the idea that you’re just in a public bathroom; it also works well for people who are only trying on tops (or, people whose legs are not their best feature and want to focus of their well-proportioned torso). However, the sink and counter top, and almost everything on it, is made of industrial brushed steel and reminds us that the public bathroom designers care only about one of the “F”s: function*. Thankfully, they care enough to do it right.

*The other three being feng shui, feel-goodedness, and fornication.

Rating: 6.0

8th Street and Broadway

Just like the surplus of men named Ray who open pizzerias in New York, there are also many pizzerias that are “famous”…but they can’t all really be this famous. Perhaps pizzerias are to NY as people are to LA. Anyway, the most striking thing about this bathroom is the amount of graffiti–easily enough to fill a novella (that’s a fancy way of saying short novel). At least there was a small degree of entertainment value. One tidbit read, “Whores don’t get a second chance- God.” Correct us if we are wrong, but that’s from “Taming of the Shrew”…or Joey-from-Queens-after-he-found-out-that- Samantha-was-cheating-on-him-with-his-best-friend-can-you-fucking-believe-it-I-mean- I-thought-he-was-gonna-marry-this-chick-ya-know…

The ceiling was only half painted. Oh, those Italians! (we can say that, our last names end in vowels). The clay-colored tiles that run up the bottom of the wall are taken over by a matte green paint that consumes everything in its path. The bathroom at one time clearly sported one of those vintage silvery hand dryers, but even that is covered in the stuff, as if some wall fungus took over half the bathroom. The owner of Famous Famiglia might tell you the bathroom is green for good luck, like the color of money. We think it’s the color of envy: this place actually does not measure up to the bathroom at the previously reviewed Ray Bono pizza uptown on Lex and 82nd St, which was not an ideal rest stop itself. At Famous Famiglia, everything in the bathroom works right for the median rating of “5,” but major points are deducted since it is just so abominable looking. Perhaps this “famous” family should have went into landscaping.

Rating: 3.0

650 Broadway

Wendy has a funny way of accommodating her customers. Like a deranged wife trying to off her husband for his money, she seems to have taken a rather extreme and grim method of thanking people for buying her burgers. The last Wendy’s we went to sported a small plate of liquid soap with 1,000 fingerprints (the same one from the Arabian Nights stories).

This time she has really outdone herself. You could smell the bathroom the moment you walk into the store. Waiting in line for a oner, we entered only to find a large, metallic room that looks like a gas chamber. The purple square floor tiles were caked with filth and possibly human remains. The steel brushed walls were covered in graffiti and scratchitti. The toilet and sink were absolutely wretched, making the holes in the ground of bathrooms in “developing countries” (is “third world” un-PC now?) seem preferable. Despite the fact that soap was present, its effectiveness wears off the moment you turn the faucet off; it pretty much had the same viscosity as water. On the side is a solitary velvet rope, a cryptic message we have yet to decipher. Is this supposed to denote a feeling of exclusivity? Only if you have a fetish for hanging out in the worst bathrooms around the city (hey, maybe they’re still better than some of the night clubs). With so many establishments in Manhattan, many of them offering at least sub-par facilities, one wonders why anyone would risk their comfort, and possibly their health, by using this one.

Rating: 2.0

622 Broadway

Best Buy was gracious enough to provide us with the definition of a five. Five is the highest score a bathroom can receive for being perfectly clean without any aesthetic design. You feel comfortable using the bathroom but you don’t want to hang around. We were escorted to the facilities by one of the employees, a retail bathroom troll if you will. We didn’t have to answer a riddle, but we did have to convince him that because of our “celebrity” we would “work on” getting him tickets to an Ultimate Fighting match. Our new friend then let us into the restroom by way of typing the right code into a numeric keypad. This way, no one could sneak in with one of the store’s items and stash the ridiculously large package into the back of their trousers. Of course, if you can override the keypad’s security system, Best Buy is probably small potatoes for you.

We found everything to be gray in this bathroom: tiny gray square tiles on the floor and walls, gray wall paint, gray stall, gray pigeon corpse. The only things not gray are, amazingly, the toilet and sinks, which are kept clean and pristine, as well as our moods, upon discovering how well-maintained this bathroom was. A plentiful stock of toilet paper and paper towel is always within reach. However, the faucets had the button you have to press down on and quickly put your hands under within three seconds, else the water shuts off. This is known in bathroom reviewing circles as “Water Temp Russian Roulette” (think about it…good). Between that and the keypad, Best Buy’s operation is starting to look more like a secret agent training camp. This would explain the gray, plain look, as agents will have to get used to hiding in the backs of  trucks.

Rating: 5.0

55 E 8th St

Chipotle seemed to spring up overnight in the northeast US, providing Manhattan with an above-par taste of cheap Mexican burritos. Far from the traditional roots of adobe ovens and handmade flour tortillas, this chain boasts a very modern and metallic style and puts the “fast” in “fast food.” A typical Chipotle line at lunch hour extends out the door, but it moves faster than a Manhattan psychiatrist’s pen on the prescription pad. This particular branch held a special affinity to non-geometric shapes and boasts oblong counter tops along the entrance. Large relief sculptures, possibly of the various Mexican gods that three percent of Americans actually recognize, bookend the main eating area.

The bathrooms here are sadly not part of the grand scheme, lacking the shapes, gods, and occasional salsa stains that adorn the dining area’s walls. At least the bathroom’s functionality discourages stragglers and keeps things moving, just like on the food line. The wall is brushed steel halfway up and followed by stucco, and the floor tiles are made from a cheap red clay. Two utility lights give the room an industrial look, more frequently a design mistake when it comes to bathrooms. It gives things a closet feel that may confuse the employees when they’re looking for a place to store the mops (or sneak in a break-time quickie, God bless them). Hanging on the wall next to the brushed steel sink is a waste basket. It’s located just below the towel dispenser, putting a stop to douchey guys who try to “score baskets” with their rolled up paper towels, miss, and then rationalize reasons not to pick them up. Overall, the bathroom was in functioning order, and a handicap rail adds a touch of civic consideration, if not aesthetic.

Rating: 5.0