Since about mid-December, the restrooms on my floor in the office building in which I work have been under major renovation. It means hiking up one floor to use the restroom. It often means hiking up two or three floors since the demand doesn’t change when the supply dwindles.
Around the first of the year, I started drinking a lot more water which meant more frequent hikes up one, two or three floors. I looked forward to the completion of the renovation, when I could walk a few dozen meters, as I’ve done for the last decade or so.
Of course, like any renovation project, things don’t always stick to the schedule. The newly renovated restrooms were supposed to reopen the first week in January. That was pushed back a week. Then I overhead the guys working on the project that there was a delay in the shipment of the new counter tops and I figured another week. When I arrived in the office this morning, the signs indicating that the restrooms were closed were still posted. But not long after, they were taken down and the new restrooms were opened once again.
They are very nice. Nice tile, nice counters. Big, fancy mirrors. The sinks and urinals and toilets are all hands-free, motion-activated. And it looks remarkably clean. I suspect the clean part won’t last too long. It’s a men’s room, after all, but it’s nice to know that such a think exists, even for a few ephemeral minutes before the first active patron arrives.
And you know what? I’m glad it’s back. It’s one of those small conveniences that you never think about (heck, at home we have restrooms on all three floors–and two on the top floor!) until it’s not there. At which point you besiege the gods with unholy invective every time you forgot that the restroom is closed and you have to hike up one, or two, or three flights.
Welcome back, restroom. I missed you.