I used to think paying for public restrooms was weird too. Until Berlin.
I was on a solo walking tour of the city, and my guidebook took me to the Hauptbahnhof, Berlin’s main train station.
After walking and drinking coffee all morning, I suddenly, urgently, had to drop a massive deuce. No time to get back to the hotel. Ah well, I’ve pooped in worse places.
So I pay my two Euros or whatever it was. The attendant led me into this massive hall. A row of stalls on one side, sinks on the other. Big ol unisex affair, because the stalls are each fully enclosed little rooms. Like actual doors that went floor to ceiling. No weird gaps. No seeing anyone’s feet. Attendant points me to the next available one. I close the door, and it must be weatherstripped or sealed or insulated or something, because once I was inside, I was in my own little silent pooping sanctuary.
Now it wasn’t the fanciest. A toilet. White tile all around. Roll of TP. But the thing was *immaculate*. Cleaner than my own bathroom. Cleaner than my *mothers* bathroom. Looked clean. Smelled clean. The tile was gleaming. Mission accomplished in record time. I actually wanted to hang out for a minute and admire the whole situation.
Now. Let’s play a thought experiment. Imagine you’re in an airport in a major U.S. city. Pick any city. You need an available, clean, quiet, private place to do your business.
I’ll pay two Euros any day.
#paying #public #restrooms #weird #Berlin