The first time I ever stole anything was at a Safeway. Well, I almost stole something.

I couldn’t have been any older than 5, and had never seen a bulk section. So this is where all the candy comes from! When my mom wasn’t looking, I pocketed one of those little gooey caramel square things. I loved those things.

By the time we got to the checkout aisle, I remember having this uncomfortable burning sensation in my head that I never felt before. It turns out it was my conscience, but I’ve since rid myself of that inconvenient malady.

I put that hot little crap candy onto a magazine rack and never told anyone. Years later, I actually applied to work at that very Safeway and didn’t get the job. I always thought that some divine justice intervened, even though I didn’t steal anything.

It may have also been because I was hungover and smelled like bong water. Who knows? I don’t have the answers to the universe’s mysteries.

As a result, I’ve never been much of a Safeway shopper; but during a recent trip to Mission, I needed to stock up on some crisco and maybe grab an eggplant. Swallowing my Safeway shame, I decided to cover the chip on my shoulder and check out their location on the Lougheed. 

On my way over, I discovered a wonderful little venue where I now plan to get married. 

As for the Grocery Store itself, it was practically a ghost town in there. Even the people who were walking around seemed lost, and I’m not exactly sure they were from the “land of the living.” Apparently this Safeway (and 9 others) are being closed. Yay market economy! Yay parent companies! Yay shitty replacement discount stores!

Without knowing any of this, I entered with zero expectations. Here’s my restroom review of the soon-to-be closed Safeway in Mission, BC. 

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I guess they must have a shoplifting problem here. If it wasn’t already apparent from the 30 pound lipstick-wearing skeleton asking me for change in the parking lot, the restroom door sure gives me another clue. 

Entering this place is kind of like going on a date with someone you met online. His picture looks decent, he’s literate, and he seems to have a handle on things. Then he shows up like this:

I’m not going to judge Safeway for their retro-restroom design. Actually, it’s fascinating to imagine the endless scores of people using this bathroom over the years.  Generation after generation of bowel movements and bad habits.  It almost brings a sentimental tear to my eye.

This place hasn’t been touched up in a while, with the exception of the light switch, which looks like it’s been fingered a fair share. This filthy little switch has been pimped out so many times, that if it’s not already in it’s usual “lit” position, I’d advise pissing in the dark.

Speaking of pissing in the dark, it looks like someone was way ahead of me.

Not entirely unusual, except for the fact that the person who left the room before me was definitely a woman. I guess she was just doing rails off the sink freshening up.

Regardless of this careless asshole’s disregard for other people (or territorial spray?), the toilet is in pretty good condition. I mean, this restroom looks like a crapper-time capsule. I wasn’t expecting a fabulous flushing fixture, complete with a bidet and a bouquet of roses.

The sink also looks quite clean, and very dry. —which likely has a lot to do with my previously mentioned sink comment. This woman sure knew how to powder her nose efficiently.

The garbage can is of the tall, trusty, steel, swivel lid variety. The kind that will deafen you with its rusty screech whenever the lid is moved.

I do appreciate that it’s situated in a practical location, right next to the sink. It also appears to be empty enough on the inside that it could handle being stuffed a dozen more times. At least today.

The next thing that’s pretty obvious is the “Weenus” marked on the wall. I  guess this person is quite fond of that particular body part.

I don’t know—of all the body parts to choose from, the weenus probably doesn’t show up at the top of my list to use as an alias.

It’s like calling yourself frenum, or thorax. Although, both of those sound pretty badass in comparison. Poor choice on the Weenus, man.

Maybe he meant Wheatus. Y’know. That annoying band from 1995 who did “Teenage Dirtbag.” It’d probably make more sense here, both for the song title and the headache I got from looking at this ugly, yellow monstrosity.

The walls are, well—they could use a scrub to say the least. It looks like someone attempted to salvage the value of these antique-tiles by doing some repairs.

Look, I know that cracks are unsightly—just make sure that before you cover them up that you don’t have different crack problems.

After rinsing off and nearly adding my own specimen of vomit to the collection on the walls, I am pleased to find that their Georgia Pacific Cormatic Roll-Towel Dispenser is functioning perfectly. Knowing their customers well, this dispenser kindly reminds you to prevent the spread of illness. 

And even though I’m not sure if I contracted anything from this restroom, it’s fortunate for everyone here that mental illness isn’t known to be contagious. Thank you Georgia Pacific. I can’t think of anyone more qualified to give me medical advice than you.

The last thing I’ll point out is the toilet scrubber. I really don’t have anything to say about this crusty, brave little brush, except that for some reason I had an immediate urge to brush and floss my teeth after I examined it. No idea why.

Considering this store is soon to be closed, the staff at Safeway have actually done a good job of keeping their restroom adequately stocked and suitable for number 1’s and 2’s. (If you look closely enough, it seems like they’ve even had some 3’s and 4’s in here, too).

I admit, I was a little hard on them. This place wasn’t awful. My experience was private and without incident. It looks like they are taking their privy pride to the grave with them. (The toilet kind of privy, not the sharing kind. There’s probably enough sharing going on here already).

It’s safe to say I won’t be returning (ha!), but I wish all you Safeway Sentinels the best of luck with your future endeavours! My sincere condolences to you in this time of mourning. Remember, though: sometimes closure is a good thing.

Toilet Paper Rating: 3/5