As I walked into the restroom at Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport, I did a double take.
Gone were the sticky floors and uncomfortable noises. In their place was something more humane.
Each toilet sat inside its own private room, with a floor to ceiling door displaying a red or green light. Red meant occupied while green meant available.
Similarly, the urinals were arrayed in cubicles. Each one sat fully out of view from the next one.
This was all a welcome surprise to me. I went from dreading this restroom trip to relishing it.
A few hours later, I stepped off a plane and into the Chicago O’Hare Airport terminal.
Once again, the spirit moved me. And once again, I found myself in the nearest restroom.
This experience was far less pleasant.
There were no private rooms for the toilets. Just ubiquitous metal stall dividers, with latched doors that were barely hanging on. And the urinals sat in a row, without any partitions between them whatsoever.
I solemnly did my business, washed my hands, and trudged over to baggage claim. But as I waited for my luggage, my mind was racing.
How costly would it be for Chicago O’Hare Airport to upgrade its restrooms? Or at least put some partitions between the urinals? Don’t they understand the virtue of privacy?
Alas, I fear they do not.
It’s often been said that death and taxes are the only certainties in life. But there are really two more.
To survive, we must take in nourishment daily. And we must also rid ourselves of the waste from that process.
Eating and drinking do not require an audience, per se. But over time, a communal audience for those activities has become close to obligatory.
But the other activities? They’re meant to be solitary. They’re too messy and unsanitary to be considered otherwise.
Some of this solitude is self-provided. Most homes contain bathrooms, allowing us to relieve ourselves in peace.
Yet, much of our day is spent outside of our homes. Namely, in communal settings where nature’s call might still arrive. Because of that, many public spaces include restroom facilities.
This might seem obvious to the point of being an afterthought. But consider the implications.
It costs money to maintain public restrooms. Toilet paper isn’t free. Neither are janitorial salaries or maintenance bills.
But it’s also nearly impossible to charge money for restroom use. People would revolt at such a notion.
So, businesses and government entities are left to take a financial loss on restroom provisions – hoping, at best, to make up the shortfall somewhere else.
This explains the haphazard look of some facilities, such as the Chicago O’Hare Airport restrooms.
But it doesn’t explain everything.
Some time ago, I was driving down a Texas highway when I noticed a series of billboards.
They appeared every 10 miles or so, each featuring a smiling beaver with a mileage countdown. They also included clever puns about restroom usage.
The billboards were for Buc-ee’s, the now famous travel center chain. But back then, Buc-ee’s wasn’t national phenomenon. If anything, it was gaining regional notoriety for its restrooms.
You see, Cintas had given Buc-ee’s an award for maintaining America’s Best Restroom. And the company was celebrating this accolade by begging travelers to try their restrooms out.
I eventually found myself in a Buc-ee’s restroom. And it did not disappoint.
Toilets were in their own private rooms. Urinals were in secluded cubicles. There were ample supplies of hand sanitizer and soap. And janitors were steps away, ready to spring into action if needed.
It immediately dawned on me that this arrangement was not financially sustainable – especially when you add in the cost of all those billboards advertising the restrooms. But as I walked out of Buc-ee’s moments later with $50 worth of merchandise and Beaver Nuggets, I realized where the funding really came from.
Still, I had no complaints. I’d spent a lifetime relieving myself behind roadside shrubs or in grungy gas station restrooms. Buc-ee’s seemed much better.
I imagine that this was the spirit behind the restroom revamps at Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport. By ponying up for facilities improvements, airport management could make travelers more comfortable — and more apt to spend money before boarding their flights.
The leaders of Chicago O’Hare Airport clearly felt differently. Hope was not a business plan for them. And they maintained their facilities accordingly.
Privacy, it seems, has a double standard.
But should it?
How much does a urinal partition cost?
My mind was still pondering this question as my bag appeared on the luggage belt in Chicago O’Hare Airport.
A quick Internet search provided the answer. Roughly $300 per partition.
That means, in a typical restroom with 5 to 7 urinals, partitions would cost $1,200 to $1,800 to install. A decent amount, no doubt. But hardly an exorbitant one.
And yet, the amount of establishments refuse to claim that cost is staggering.
I’ve started adding these overly public restrooms to a Demerit List. A list that now includes the restrooms at Chicago O’Hare Airport.
And once a restroom makes the list, I’ve tried to avoid returning it ever again.
You see, I find the situation unconscionable. Why would entities avoid paying a grand or two for some urinal partitions, when they’re likely paying twice as much to arrange the toilets in stalls?
But more than that, I view this no-partition arrangement as a broken promise.
For if I were to relieve myself out in the open, I would be — rightfully — assessed a ticket for public lewdness. But somehow, in a communal space, I’m expected to have momentary amnesia for that warning?
No.
I’m owed convenience. I’m owed discretion.
And so is everyone else who sets foot inside a public restroom.
It’s time that we set some standards for privacy. And it’s time that we invest properly in those standards.
Put up those partitions. Install those doors. Do all we can to protect the sanctity of solitude.
This is more than an obligation. This is a right.
Let’s ensure that it’s properly honored.