Opening Weekend of my summer in White Plains, NY: Bathroom Breakdown

At 6:10 a.m on Saturday, my parents and I set off on an eight hour trip (without stops) to White Plains, NY to move me in for the summer. Here are some astute observations/thoughts from the opening weekend of my summer.

BATHROOMS

Ah, the porcelain palace. On a trip of such length, encounters with the realm of relief are inevitable. But in my situation it was impregnable. You don't just spend nineteen straight summers in Ohio then not get a little anxious about leaving. You don't just attend two years of college in rural Southeast Ohio then not expect a little culture shock on the East Coast. And most importantly, you don't go three years battling Irritable Bowel Syndrome and not expect to go to the bathroom.

At home the bathroom is a safe zone. It is comforting. Strategically placed candles and periodic potpourri exude homey fragrances. Hygienically reassuring sinks linger within an arms length. Towels, floor mats, and fans are engrained in our day-to-day restroom routine. On the road, however, such amenities are rather scarce.

Here is a breakdown of the weekends vaunting vinyl voyages.

Goasis Ashland, Ohio: Well, this was a solid four and a half minutes into the trip. It was also 6:15 a.m. so I was already reevaluating my life. The facility was impressive as it showed no signs of messy overnight visits. I also surveyed the family restroom to get a comprehensive idea of the accommodations. It contained a toilet that was somewhere in between a portable training toilet and a "big boy" john. It was short enough that I could trip over it. I entertained the thought of using it, but my accuracy is already dreadful before 9 a.m. My emotions jolted back and forth between endeared and betrayed. I felt slighted by society because I remember the post-training adjustment struggle. The stage where a kid could more easily spit into a urinal than pee is a challenging one, and I was denied the opportunity to ever use a family friendly facility.

Grade: A-.

McDonald's Ravenna, Ohio: If going to the bathroom were a competition, this one would be my home arena. Conveniently located at the junction of I-76 and Route 5 in Northeast Ohio, it epitomizes the saying "location, location, location." Because I spent much of my childhood traveling both of these roads to visit family, I have been a regular at this bathroom. I'm on a first name basis with the toilet paper dispensers. The sinks practically turn on for me. As far as quality of the facility, the bathroom offers everything you would expect from a McDonald's bathroom. So, it doesn't offer much.

Grade: B+. It holds a special place in my heart.

McDonalds Somewhere in Central Pennsylvania: Maybe I am just partial to the Ravenna one, but this was poorly mopped. I prefer the floors of my fast food bathrooms to be moist from the last mopping at all times. These floors were drier than George W. Bush's refrigerator. The rest was stellar. It had one hell of a firm "pull" handle on the inside of the bathroom door. It was the kind of door handle that cemented the legacy of your visit to the bathroom. It was the kind that gave you closure. It was the kind that reminded you that you came with a goal and, by all means, you left without one.

Grade: B-. Not impressed.

Exxon Mobil in Eastern PA: This was a disaster. After "holding it" for a record eighteen exits, I urged my dad to pull over here. It was at this Exxon that I discovered the biggest crisis in Exxon's rich and innovative crisis history, their east Pennsylvania bathroom. Dead insects? Check. Torn up walls? You bet. A lingering, putrid scent? Sure. Toilet paper? Not a chance. I was a dead man. Stranded in the stall. I felt like a toilet. I was like Tom Hanks in Castaway. I started talking to the plunger. I named it "Barry." And that was only 30 seconds in. After five patient minutes, I was rescued by my dad. He was my knight in Docker's armor, overcoming the perils of the bathroom door to haplessly toss a roll of government toilet paper over the stall door.

Also, just to kick me while I was down, there was no soap. So, I spent the next 70 miles trying not to touch anything.

Grade: F. This is as bad as it gets.

Dunkin Donuts in NJ: They had soap, and now that soap is a luxury I am giving them an "A."

Grade: A++

Crown Royal White Plains room 1203: Hotel bathrooms are glorious. I found myself using every travel sized bottle of everything. I did so ravenously. For all I know, I could have been moisturizing my hair in the shower or lathering myself in shaving scream. But hey, "it's all deadly."

Grade: A. Coffee maker in bathroom? That'll work.

Outback Steakhouse White Plains: The Outback Steakhouse bathroom dilemma is an interesting one. In an attempt to be creative and parallel their Australian theme, they name their bathrooms in a way that Americans (their customers) may have considerable trouble discerning. Men are supposed to go in the room entitled "Blokes," and women are intended to enter the one that says "Sheilas." Watching people stutter step, frantically whip their head from door to door, and even seek help from restaurant employees makes the whole visit worth it.

Grade: B for entertainment.

Gannat Dorm Hall (Pace University): I clogged a toilet in here within three minutes of being officially on my own in New York, and quite frankly I am headed there again right now...

Grade: C. I feel bad.