Dr. George in the Land of Oz part II
Oz is an odd place. It has certain uniqueness’ about it that makes it stand out in the world. It also has certain Universals that seem to show up everywhere. For example, one of the scientific constants, The “Law of Human Hydraulics” states that the frequency and duration of stoplights is directly proportional to the degree with which you need to pee. The first corollary is that the urgency of your need to pee is inversely proportional to restroom availability. Simply stated, the worse you gotta go, the further away and the less likelihood there is to be a restroom. Now, what, you might ask, does this have to do with Oz. Everything!
The Ozaliths have a problem with toiletry. Actually, about fifty years ago, some poor schlep was stuck with a load of restroom signs that nobody wanted. Said poor schlep got the bright idea to load them on a ship and bring them to Australia. He managed to sell them all to the first bright Ozalith he saw. The Ozalith, sensing a grand opportunity, ran around selling the restroom signs, which soon became the rage. Everybody wanted one. Of course they had absolutely no idea what a restroom was or what one is supposed to do if he found himself locked inside. The local inhabitants ran around nailing up their “restroom” signs everywhere. And, I can prove this.
In the next town over, Chatswood, there is a huge shopping mall. It’s so large that it needs three food courts, and a bevy of scattered food carousels. They sell everything from Italian haute cuisine to baked potatoes and pretzels. The Mall has about 793 restroom signs, all with arrows. Yesterday I was in the mall when that certain sense of urgency struck. I had to go. Then I really had to go. Finally, I had to go right now.
I started following the restroom signs. These are very nice signs that say “restrooms” with arrows pointing in different directions. Up, Down, Left and Right. covering all 8 points of the compass. I followed the first sign to the next. Up. . .Right. . .Down. . .Left. . .Right. . .Down. . .Up. . .Up. . .and back where I started. No restroom anywhere. Just signs. After madly racing round the mall, at an ever quickening pace I saw another sign. Left. . .down a hall then Up. . .the escalator. Then Right, down another hall then left to another escalator and then right. . .into a solid wall. At this point it is no longer a game, a race, or even a challenge. It’s more like an Olympic race horse on lasix need.
In Oz, drinks come in various sizes ranging from small children’s to the Ultra Super Large Family of Man Size. Finally out of sheer desperation and the sudden realization that I was beginning to leak, I stepped behind the escalator into a small hidden alcove, emptied my Ultra Super Large cup and, with some fumbling around, manage refill my cup. Then I head to the nearest waste disposal can.
In my little suburb, Lane Cove, there is one, very neatly hidden public restroom. To get there you need to go to the front of the large Supermarket, go down the winding staircase into the underground mini-mall and then down a dark hall towards the underground parking lot. About two steps before you get hit by an oncoming car down a blind alley there is a very small, barely noticeable sign that says “disabled toilet” with a smaller arrow pointing left down yet another hall to where the supermarket hides it’s trashbarrels. Just before the garbage cans, there is a plain white door with a green and red occupied/available sign and a tiny knob smaller than the average shirt button. Hidden behind that door is the disabled toilet. Once inside, the knob becomes the lock. Of course the latch and the latchplate are misaligned so the lock doesn’t work. But then what can one reasonably expect from a “disabled toilet”.
One thing about public toilets in Oz. They are clean. Hospital clean. Is this a conscious national effort? Probably not. It’s just that nobody can find them. Perhaps this also explains why the trash cans are filled with large empty cups. Nobody can possibly drink that much but they do make handy portable personal potties.
Now I gotta pee, which raises the next Universal law. The law of women’s inability to tell time. How is it that “I’ll just be a minute” can take up to two hours.
Gee Are
For the Weekly World Whacko.
