Potty talk

If you have a squeamish stomach, or if the subject matter is too uncouth for you, then please read no further, because I'm going to talk potty.

No, not dirty. Potty. Like in toilet. Latrine. Commode. The Head. Hopper. The John. Lavatory. Loo. Necessary. Outhouse. Porcelain Throne. Pot. Privy. Reading Room. Restroom. Throne. Water Closet. Little Girl's Room. Just a few of the 101 names for the potty that I could find online.

Public potty rooms are one of my pet peeves. You see, I probably have visited every one between here and Timbuktu, thanks to a condition called irritable bowel syndrome. Maybe that's TMI (too much information). But I come by my opinions because of that reason. I consider myself a PE. Potty Expert.

I'm convinced all public potties must be designed by skinny men. No woman who is not related to Twiggy would ever place a potty so close to a wall. Nor would she place the toilet paper dispenser on that wall at a level between and next to her knees and elbow. Or confine it to such a small area that in order to close the door you have to straddle the toilet, which then leaves you no room to finagle your pants down or up.

I know of what I speak. So, if there is anyone out there who will be building new construction public bathrooms, I am available for hire as a PE consultant. Women everywhere would applaud you.

I have to give credit where credit is due when they actually come up with conveniences that work. So let's give a rousing "Hip Hip Hooray" for the disposable toilet seat covers! Give me a High Five for the no-hands-needed faucets.

But ladies and gentlemen, I found a new one last Wednesday. My sister, Diane, niece Abby, BFF Connie and I went to New York to see "Wicked." (Two thumbs up and worth every penny!) We had a delicious lunch at Vynl. Connie went to the ladies room first. Then I did. (Surprise surprise.) I was somewhat perplexed with the faucet. It looked like a bicycle handle bar. My first instinct was to grab a hold but was afraid I'd take off for the ride of my life! Since it was positioned over a sink, I assumed it would dispense water ... somewhere.

The trick was in figuring it out. Since faucets usually dispense water from the center, and many now are sensor control, I placed my hands underneath the center. Viola! Water! Then I searched for paper towels. Nada. I glanced around for the hand dryers. Nothing. So I'm thinking to myself, how does a public bathroom get away without anything to dry one's hands? So I'm standing there shaking off the excess water, ready to wipe them on my pants when I see a small diagram on the wall next to the handlebars. It showed placing your left hand under the left side of the handlebar and the right hand under the right side. I did and BAM! A blast of jet stream air going at warp speed dried my hands instantly!

I was so excited! I hurried back to the table and said to Connie, "How about that hand dryer?"

"What hand dryer? I couldn't find one. I had to wipe my hands with toilet paper," she said.

I've since learned that this is the latest in Sir James Dyson's (the vacuum cleaner Dyson) inventions and it is called the Airblade Tap. It brags that it can dry your hands with cold air at 430 mph and will dry 15 people's hands for the cost of a single paper towel. But it sells for over $1,500. I guess Vynl thought it was worth it. If nothing else, it's a great conversation piece!

I'm getting close to retirement age. Like many seniors, I'm contemplating starting a new career as a bathroom attendant at fairs and carnivals. Here's the poop. Oops, I mean the scoop.

Let's do the math. I'll start with the West End Fair, which has been going on all week. It gets about 150,000 visitors each year. Let's just say, half of them are females, bringing that number to 75,000. It's almost a guarantee they will have to visit the bathroom at least once. If every female tips the attendant 25 cents, that amounts to, are you ready? $18,750! I don't know how many attendants they have or how many shifts, but let's say there are three shifts, one attendant each. That's $6,250 a week per attendant!

Let's do the Bloomsburg Fair. Bloomsburg gets about 432,000 a year. Halve that to 216,000 females at 25 cents and it comes to $54,000 for the week, $18,000 per attendant.

Now fairs and carnivals are usually held from June to October. That's about 20 weeks in a year. Figuring on the low side of the West End Fair, that amounts to $125,000. If you did larger fairs like Bloomsburg, you'd be on the high side of $360,000.

So, you could potentially earn between $125,000 to $360,000 for five months of work.

I'd buy a hazmat suit, oxygen mask, the longest rubber gloves I can find and a 5-foot-long toilet bowl brush and put in my application. If I work as a fair bathroom attendant for five years I could make $1.8 million! I could either buy a solid gold potty and "go" in style or retire to a little bungalow in Florida. Hmmm. Decisions, decisions.