Planet of the Grapes

83rd Street and 5th Avenue

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is the cornerstone of New York City art museums and home to one of America’s finest collections. The building sports a classical facade: tall columns, broad friezes and a general majesty to make you feel insignificant, but in that romantic way, unlike the glass phalluses of this age that bear the title “modern architecture.” Of course, traveling around the back one would see up the skirt of the Met and notice its more contemporary posterior. Even the Met is not above a little nip and tuck. Although it’s not free to enter, admission is based on suggested donation, so if you really need a bathroom here you needn’t worry about being strapped for cash.

The sheer size of this museum requires several facilities. Perhaps they should add lodging as one could spend days perusing over this massive collection. Our first stop in a five-part series is the Egyptian wing. Coming on the heels of the Pharaoh’s Landing review, we felt it more than appropriate to see how a real Pharaoh lived and relieved. We didn’t find much in living. Most of the collection came from the great Egyptian tombs. However, if you make a left at the tomb entrance and pass the sarcophagi, you’ll find yourself at the restroom.

These facilities are certainly not fit for a God-king. The entire room is covered in small gray tiles topped with a fine glaze of grime. The floor is checkerboarded for a little variety, perhaps for a compelling game of Ritalin Checkers. Like the bat droppings that killed many tomb excavators, the ergonomic black soap dispenser emits a toxic odor that beckons you to leave this place immediately; the mysterious smell is either coming from that or the tombs that share a wall with this bathroom. There are a few redeeming qualities however: the sinks are hands-free and there is a full-length mirror, a rare sight in a public restroom. An emergency phone hangs by the door in case the mummies ever really came back to life without paying the donation fee. The corpse housed in this tomb was a broken toilet, embalmed in toilet water and toilet paper like the kings of old. We paid our respects and moved on.

Rating: 5

Parts Unknown

The main bathroom in Yahdderman’ home was hilighted recently, and now two other members of this organization must turn the looking glass on themselves, exposing all the glory and all the sorrow that comes when one stands face to face with his own reality. They live together and call their apartment “Pharaoh’s Landing,” though 1) they are not Egyptian divinity/royalty and 2) their apartment is not a wharf. A case in point for breast-feeding, as neither of this apartment’s inhabitants suckled on the maternal teet.

The bathroom’s centerpiece undoubtedly is the shower curtain. It’s deep red with writhing gold rings is at once regal and ridiculous. The curtain is the true hero of the day, as the rest of the bathroom is what you expect from a typical apartment: cramped, walls with heavy paint caked on sloppily, a toilet designed only for function, and a tiny sink. A hand towel hangs beside the sink as if it had been there when Moses lived here. Despite the building’s limitations on the bathroom’s construction and spotlessness (see general grime between tiles buried under decades of previous owners’ neglect) the facilities are kept clean and stocked so you will never go without the basic amenities.

Rating: 5.5

34th Street and Broadway

And now, onward and upward from the Macy’s basement to the 7th floor. Whereas the color palette in the basement brought band-aids to mind, here we have that very strange combination of orange and brown. Orange and brown can work in a weird way, beautiful and ugly at the same time, a swan with fangs. Or perhaps a dove with claws. How about a hummingbird with PMS? Sorry. The orange wall tiles aren’t even that orange, so maybe we were exaggerating to waste space…it’s the holidays and we want to get to the islands already! Anyway, the stalls are a light brown that call to mind an oft-referenced mode in our bathroom observation: 1970s municipal architecture. When will it die? To make matters worse, they are made out of a light, plastic-y material. If you ran into them you may well knock them over. Isn’t that something they do in the Midwest? Functionally, the designers made the mistake of making the walkway between sink and stall too narrow. Since the stall doors open outward, you may get backsided by one while washing your hands if you’re not careful. Big points off for that; you should always feel like you can take your time washing your hands. It’s what separates us from the animals. After quickly washing up you’ll rush to the paper towel dispenser only to find it is, in fact, dirty. Tisk tisk. Maybe you should stick to the basement. That orange tiling ain’t bad, though.

Rating: 5

34th Street & Broadway

We had to, of course, save Macy’s for December. It’s the only department store the real Santa actually visits (at least that’s what we were told when kids—hiring a guy with a real beard goes far. Hiring a guy with real prison experience doesn’t). This entry features the facilities in the basement, often called the “cellar” in order to soften the blow. Whatever you call it, this underground level doles out full servings of overpriced food and consumerism at its best, or worst, depending on which side of the cash register you’re on.

The sinks here are band-aid colored; we didn’t know whether or not to be alarmed by that…turns out they complemented the beige marble walls quite nicely. The baby-changing station, on the other hand, did not inspire confidence; we wouldn’t trust putting a doll on it. There was, however, a well-lit sink next to it, a nice touch that earned some points. The flooring here definitely exhibited some dirt, though we must say in their defense that the color of the floor tiles is light and that Macy’s of course is a high traffic location (insert joke about young dumb female “celebrity’s” bathroom here). Even in such locations we welcome a little exposed dirt if it means the color of the floor tiles is not that ugly and depressing grey used in so many bathrooms. Whoever designed this place, though, still should have anticipated the traffic and chose another color, and/or the staff should see that it’s attended to more often. Or maybe Santa has his own private bathroom and they don’t worry as much about everyone else the rest of the year. The doors on the stalls are cabana-style, providing privacy as well as ventilation, like dark linen pants. The bathroom overall is functional but still has that unfortunate factor we call dinginess. Maybe it just goes with getting used so much (insert…).

Rating: 5.5

34th Street and 7th Avenue

Those of you who are familiar with the relatively new mythology of “McDonaldland” will recognize the large oafish being we know as Grimace. Grimace is purple (he is, despite rumors to the contrary, a plum. Listen to POTG Radio). The floor tiling in this bathroom is purple. Coincidence? Perhaps not, considering his fallout with Ronald. Are we made to think that we are, in fact, walking all over Grimace? If we are, Grimace needs to clean up his act.

When we visited these floors seemed to possess that mysterious quality that prevents certain bathroom floors from ever feeling one hundred percent dry. This state of perpetual wetness is encouraged in certain places–like, um, rainforests–but not, of course, on bathroom floors. Each facility is a oner (one person at a time, people, unless it’s after midnight), but the men’s room is what’s known as a “King’s Oner”-it has a toilet AND a urinal. (a “Queen’s Oner” would include a bidet, or a guy who loves dance music and hair gel, depending on which borough you’re in). Options are always nice, like being able to replace the Number Two Value Meal with a Number 4 Value Meal, or better yet, something your body chemistry actually recognizes. If you do need to use the bathroom after consuming said value meals, at least they’re functional, but since this is McDonald’s after all, service is not four stars. Case in point- we found cleaning agents left on the sink, as if to say, “maybe you can do a better job at this than we did.” The walls are grey like the meat before it’s dyed, the lighting, though bright, seems to want you to leave quickly. Maybe they don’t want you to realize the crap you flush down the toilet goes right back into the kitchen.

Rating: 3.5

1 East 57th Street

Okay, first things first- the pattern on the bags is ugly, and all that owning one proves is that you have something to prove. We don’t know who’s worse- the idiot willing to spend $585 on a wallet or the idiot willing to buy a cheap imitation on Canal Street just to try and trick people into thinking they spent $585 on a wallet. Come on, you’re not fooling anyone- if you cannot afford to take cabs instead of the subway, you cannot afford that wallet. You do, however, sheepishly submit to one of the worst aspects of American culture, and for that, we kindly ask that you outfit a casket with the Louis Vuitton patterns you love so much, get into it, and close it.

Now that we lost the model vote, among others, let us review the store’s facilities. After all, you don’t have to buy anything to relieve yourself in a retail store, and for this reason it sometimes feels even better to do so in an establishment you don’t particularly endorse. It’s a subtle flip of the proverbial bird. Being the true aesthetes that we are, we could of course appreciate the merits of this 4th floor restroom, far from the maddening crowds. The restroom could be called a “glorified oner”- though not a private bathroom, its size prevents large rushes of people, like a beautiful girl who dates with extreme caution. You may have to wait outside during such a rush, but once it’s your turn, the deep marble and browns make you feel like you are inside one of the bags- and we almost mean that in a good way. The low lighting works because of the bathroom’s cleanliness and crisp modern touches (long-necked sink faucets, frosted stall doors). The locks on the stall doors, however, give more problems then they should. We may never buy anything here, but we have nothing against patronizing the “sales associates” (or whatever the hell they’re called these days) as we make our way to the restroom in order to add some more waste to their store.

Rating: 7

35th Street & 5th Avenue

Time makes fools of us all. With so many bathrooms reviewed, it is inevitable that one of our readers finds their way to a reviewed facility only to realize it has been completely renovated (or perhaps desecrated). Have our ratings struck fear in the hearts of the store or building managers, or is it simply the natural growth of a company? Like people, establishments go through changes. Perhaps it is a conspiracy to make us look bad. Thanks, but we can make ourselves look bad without any help. For this review, we decided to do a before and after comparison as a special feature.

Like a teenage girl with too many shoes and “nothing to wear”, this Starbucks branch has gone through the awkward stages of puberty when one seeks to define themselves. When we first met, this bathroom boasted an artistic spirit with its ribbed wooden mirror frame and its set of generally Mediterranean iconography watercolors. We noted a spot where one had gone missing. Perhaps the muse threw it at a belligerent customer, just as Michelangelo hurled his utensils at his own commissioners. But in a short while, this bathroom succumbed to peer pressure and conformed to the sterile mask of the chain’s restrooms. The frame was gone, as were the paintings. Instead, you are given a dirty bottle of pink antimicrobial soap. Apparently, if the soap kills bacteria, then there’s no problem that the bottle itself is crawling with them.  The warm, pinkish flourescent light has been replaced with one that gives off that familiar greenish hue — the one that makes you look horrible no matter how much makeup you have on. One could almost hear the faint sobbing as this restroom slowly dies inside. And if you’re inside it, you’d best get out before the darkness consumes you too.

Rating: 4.5

Parts unknown

Let us begin with a preface: this is a private residential restroom (thus, exclusively referred to as a bathroom), and is evaluated against a different set of criteria. Keep in mind a rating of 10 would include things like showers you could walk around in and that provide multiple shower heads and steamers, a jacuzzi, a bidet if that’s your thing, and perhaps even a bar. We felt this bathroom would be appropriate to include, however, because it is a stunning example of the Average Bathroom At Your Friend’s House, and we assume our readership is of a certain pedigree and thus knows a few folks around town.

Also, Yahdderman often receives the most bizarre fan mail, so showing a picture of his bathroom should satisfy the continued requests of one Betty M. Hopefully this is the last we’ll hear of this and will not have to call the police again.

This particular bathroom boasts the offbeat charm of yellow coloring, something of an ugly child whose unique spirit makes you secretly love it the most. Most importantly, it is almost always clean and neat, and unlike some WASPy bathrooms we find in suburban homes, with their Norman Rockwell prints and toilets that flush so weakly you perpetually feel on the brink of disaster, this one always lets you stay for as long as you need.

Rating 6.5

East 55th Street at Fifth Avenue

The Catholic saint, John Francis Regis, established several hostels for prostitutes, and apparently set these ladies up as lacemakers so that they could gain a steady income.  Thus, he is the patron saint of lacemakers. We’re not going to say we couldn’t make that up, because we could. Rather, we will state the simple truth: we did not make that up. It would be too perfect. But it’s true, and so here we are.

The joke about how there is a direct line between the saint’s hostel and this hotel, which today surely houses many a sordid affair between wealthy men and prostitutes wearing lace writes itself. So let’s get on to the bathroom.

Some of the trimmings of the grand sitting rooms of the lobby are laced with gold, but alas, we did not find the elusive golden toilet. We did, however, find an aristocratic facility worthy of this rich, sometimes gaudy, and always discreet (ahem) 5th Avenue hotel. The sink’s faucets were brass, a nice touch (literally), and the counter tops a black marble.  The rectangular flush handles on the toilets are both modern and classical, like playing Beethoven on an iPod through a phonograph while writing sonnets in an email  to an Internet “lover” you’ll never actually meet in person. The lighting in this bathroom is a bit dim, but emanates class, helped along by a well-mannered attendant and a clean, shiny floor. The lacemakers have done well for themselves.

Rating: 7.5

What, what could possibly possess the Manhattan Transit Authority to put a public restroom in the middle of the Times Square subway station? Perhaps because the labyrinthine station, which reputedly used to house its very own minotaur (pre-Giuliani), is, well, tremendous. So the MTA gets points for trying to help pedestrians, but the poor guy who has to sit in a little room next to the bathroom and act as its “guard” certainly does not–though we can’t blame him.

The Times Square bathroom hits the Grand Slam of public facilities: it’s cramped, dark, dirty, and smelly. The overall layout is reminiscent of airplane bathrooms, most of which will seem like the Taj Mahal after this. Memories of such in-flight relief may provide solace if you find yourself in the Times Sq. restroom, unless the last time you had to use the bathroom while airborne was aboard the last chopper out of ‘Nam. If you were on one of those choppers, first, we’re sorry, and second, maybe there wasn’t even a bathroom. Peeing out of a moving helicopter may still be preferred to using Times Square Station’s bathroom (please don”t even imagine any other varieties of elimination), or, in this case, peeing onto subway tracks. The Times Square bathroom is where the most deranged criminals should spend their last day on Earth.

Rating: 2