How many times will we see the following joke?: a patron of Bed, Bath, and Beyond is in said store, and sees three sections: “Bed,” “Bath,” and “Beyond.” They enter the door labeled “Beyond” and start floating in a vast purples sky, surrounded by cherubs with Mia Farrow’s face, singing Doors songs in Swahili, etc.

Regardless of the variations on that scenario, back in the solid reality of bedding and bathroom accoutrements, this 6th Ave location is always crowded on the weekends, so be warned. You may end up fighting over the last scented candles (personal favorite: “Meadows of County Cork at 6:45am in August”) with riff-raff from the outer boroughs. On our visit we found a lack of toilet paper in one stall, which is reminiscent of a parachute without a rip cord (RIP Buzz). There were, however, two plungers under the sink, armed and ready for action; good thinking given the aforementioned wealth of foot traffic. The marble swirl pattern on the sink got us a bit hungry for chocolate sundaes, but the water on the toilets and ground quickly curbed that, giving the bathroom a very dingy feeling. Bathrooms are one of those places where dryness is very important. Just like underwear. The large mirror is fought over even in the men’s bathroom (this is Chelsea after all). Besides the wetness, the bathroom does reasonably well on cleanliness, but lacks character. Like faking admiration for an enthusiastic friend’s dour cat, you just have to grin and bear it.

Rating: 4.0

The Container Store is an organizer’s nocturnal emission, offering a very insightful angle in the commercial world our economy relies on. Where other stores try to sell devices, gadgets and all sorts of “things,” The Container Store sells you a way to store those many things you have undoubtedly been duped into buying (it’s okay to admit it; we’ve all been down that road). And as we accumulate more things, we come closer to resembling the ancient Egyptian Pharaohs in their quest to accumulate. The Container Store will be rolling out a new line of slim yet spacious tombs later this year.

It’s almost too easy to expect the bathroom to reflect this store’s obsession with space, so we must first ask ourselves: what would a bathroom have to store? Aside from general toiletries, there’s really only two things people put here — three if you count morning sickness, four if you’re doing lines. Unless they have replaced urinals with funnels that don’t need to be flushed, creativity can only go so far here. Space is the key, and the Container Store shocks us by containing only two stalls and (two urinals in the men’s room). The decor is a cold, steely gray, lightly adorned with shiny white brick tiles along the wall. It’s a strange contrast to the colorful plastic bins you trip over on your way to the bathroom. The playground-pattern gray marble sink sports yellow rings around the faucet handles, causing us to question where the Container Store gets its water supply from. The mirrors above the sink have stress marks around the spots where they were welded to the wall. The aforementioned stalls are made of brushed steel paneling, and in the larger of the stalls is a foot-pedal trash can with a sweater inside. We suspect Mister Rogers dumps his outfit here and becomes a superhero?

In a day where studios can be arranged to look as big as mansions, The Container Store should have considered their bathroom as another strategy to sell their brilliance in saving space. Sadly, not even Super Rogers can help here.

Rating: 5.5

Old Navy—which is not old, naval-themed nor contains only navy blue clothing—is the third chain owned by Gap, Inc., the other two being Gap and Banana Republic. It has always presented itself as more casual than Banana Republic and less sterile than Gap while remaining the most affordable of the three clothing lines. Gap Inc treats this as its “street store,” and the inside feels like you’re shopping in a warehouse down by the docks. Of course, this is no insult to warehouses nor docks (in fact we have friends that live in warehouses and docks—honest!). The shabby casual culture is certainly popular enough that the store does very well for itself.

The restrooms at this branch not only failed to match the look of the store but also threw a mortal chill down our spines. The mind behind the design of this branch’s bathroom runs parallel to a serial killer’s. The tiny hexagonal floor tiles were off-white, their borders filled with decades of grime. A pale yellow brick motif ran across the lower half of the walls, and the stall doors were made from grated metal, giving it that industrial look. But the true terror was the toilet. As if most toddlers aren’t scared enough of the toilet’s mouth-shaped monstrous visage, the pipe coming out the back of this toilet resembles a steel anaconda writhing up towards the ceiling and will traumatize even some 30-year-olds (especially those who have never held a full-time job). A chain hangs ominously from the reptilian display, perhaps pointing upward to where the steel anaconda hung itself (is that possible?). Perhaps fear is the reason these toilets look like they’ve never been flushed before. A garbage can stands in front of a urinal; apparently, an “out of order” sign was too subtle so they had to put a metal bouncer in front of it. If Mecha-Godzilla has a torture chamber, this is where he goes to get inspired.

Rating: 4.5