Movie theatre restrooms are assigned the unique commission of taking in a concentrated volume of people at intervals between films.
The crowds of cattle eagerly shove themselves out of the theatre doors into the congested hallway, eager to release any business they were holding in for the film they just watched.*
They slap their slippery, butter covered fingers against the door handles as they try to avoid eye contact with everyone else, sidling awkwardly next to each other for a spot at the slimy sinks.
*(At least I’m pretty sure people hold it in so they don’t miss the movie, don’t they? Am I alone here? Either way, if you haven’t seen The Last Jedi yet, don’t worry about holding it in. You won’t miss very much).
So let’s get right to it: I’m not going to go easy on this place. I realize that this theatre is run by
stoned teenagers hardworking, ambitious employees, so it’s my duty to call them on their performance for this dead Sunday night.
Right off the bat, I’m not impressed. The presentation is all off. The floors look and feel sticky. The sinks don’t appear to be clean. There is a subtle, flavourful B.O. scent that feels warm (and a tad fruity) as I inhale. Plus, there is a mess of paper towel scattered on the floor that looks like a small rodent of some sort was having a late night snack.
All of this is mostly forgivable. And while I’m not one to dock too many points for the filthy habits of patrons, I feel like working in a theatre would include a lot of down time. Come on dudes, at least give the place a sweep after you rub one out in the stalls.
Turning the corner, I nearly have a panic attack. For some reason these large, ominous garbage bags seemed to jump out at me as if I was about to become a movie-theatre-mugging victim.
After calming myself, I examine not one, but three out-of-order urinals. They kind of remind me of the Martians from the Muppets. Y’know, the ones that go “Yip yip!”
These urinals have me wondering if this was a matter of neglect, juvenile delinquency, or mental health. Then I remember that this is a Cineplex: it’s probably all three.
Stall Investigation Tally: (Out of 3 Stalls)
- Found Floaters: 2/3
- Stall Graffiti: 3/3
- Wet toilet paper wads in a puddle on the floor: 1/3
One of the most rewarding parts of my job as a restroom reviewer is the graffiti. This particular location has some real, uh, gems. Take this message, for instance: The Buttrockets Are Behind Us All The Way.
Now, I admire any piece of Shithouse Poetry that inspires me to do some investigation. My first guess is that it’s an awful band name, but a quick google search yields no musical results. Damn.
According to Urban Dictionary, a “Buttrocket” is defined as: The act of using a non needled syringe to thrust a mixture of water, and methamphetamines up ones anus.
That’s right. You read it correctly. And after accidentally stepping in the aforementioned wet wad of toilet paper, I’m feeling like it’s time to wrap it up and finish.
The review, I mean.
In conclusion: I really didn’t enjoy my experience here. Maybe you think it’s unfair of me to review a restroom that gets such heavy traffic and is operated by younger people. And considering the girl who sold me popcorn couldn’t figure out how to use the butter dispenser, maybe you’d be right.
But, truth be told, this cinema shitter was truly the shits, and likely won’t receive a nomination from the academy.
Toilet Paper Rating: 2/5