Resolved: Open Air Bathrooms should be abolished.
Have you gone the bathroom in an open air restroom?
At first, the experience is enlivening, warm night air sitting on the skin, a light breeze touching the face. Frankly, it seems logical to eject the “unwanteds” from the body in an open space, fresh air taking away the evil smells and bacteria.
But the harms outweigh the benefits.
1. Privacy. A half wall separating a toilet user from a dinner party is not enough privacy, not for anyone involved. The outsiders do not want to listen to sqeaky or squishy noises while eating . . . or at all. The insider does a painful dance with his or her bowels, trying to slow the process down, control the noises, even the toilet flush. Merging back with the group is a process of avoiding eye contact and eschewing liquids or solids for the rest of the night in order to avoid a repeat showing.
If the outdoor toilet is in a small villa backed up to a motorcycle lot and laundry, the “dinner party” on the other side of the half wall never goes away, they just roast pigs and drink beer while the toilet user tries to pretend it is normal to poop in public.
2. Creatures. Mosquitoes love water; apparently, that is doubly true of shower water in outside showers. My ankles and shoulders get eaten alive whenever I take a shower. I stopped taking showers. Who needs to be clean? I can’t dry my hair anyway, thanks to my crappy hairdryer dying on day one. Another creature fond of the outdoor bathrooms are the geckos, but I have to list them as a benefit. I love their sticky feet, their calls, their cute little eyes – and the fact that they eat mosquitoes.
3. Showers. Showers next to the toilet in a small outdoor bathroom are practical. But disgusting. Very goddamm disgusting. The water runs over the toilet and all the germs then run onto the floor, over my feet. I don’t not want urine or feces on my feet, I don’t care how diluted it is. I realize most of the germs are inside the toilet but I’m also a realist – I’ve seen my five year old go the bathroom. Further, the floor of the bathroom is then wet, creating squishy, icky toe syndrome for a couple of hours. Maybe I would be a little more forgiving if the water was actually warm.
If I lived on acres of secluded land, all by myself, with no visitors, I may like an outdoor bathroom, complete with a bug zapper, hot water, and full walls. Until then, I’m happy with skylights, paintings of the ocean and a fan. Or just four walls and a ceiling.
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