Continued from Part 1

Lovers recoil. It’s time for part (number) 2 of that 7-Eleven review you probably didn’t even bother to begin reading anyway.

Last week, I “treated” you to a journey through my Valentine’s date at a Northside 7-Eleven that sells liquor. And everyone knows the important role liquor plays in cultivating a loving relationship. Either that or chloroform.

If you actually enjoyed living vicariously through me losing my “V-card” at 7-Eleven on 14110 127th st NW in Edmonton Alberta, then you might want to hold your nose for this next smelly segment.

I’ve been tiring worklessly for literal hours to bring you a satisfying conclusion to this special restroom report. When we last parted ways, your perverted, potty-peering appraiser had just finished some complementary snacks from a generous, gentleman of a manager.

Here’s what I found after chowing down on my free chacken.

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The bathroom isn’t difficult to locate. I also don’t need a key to enter, which can definitely be nice if you’re in a hurry. It’s very trusting of 7-Eleven to assume I’m not about to abuse the privilege by showing up in labour or something. (Then again, after those free chicken wings, I just might be.) So far, so good. Nothing out of the ordina–wait a second!

Uh oh. A stray TP sighting, located outside the “acceptable, reasonable, understandable” zone of TP debris. This isn’t a good sign.

Alright, it’s a convenience store in Edmonton. I know it’s not going to be spotless, but when there’s a used-toilet-paper-trap outside the door, it puts me on high alert right away.

Speaking of spots, it’s hard not to notice these ones. I feel like if I used a UV / black light on this door, it would tell quite the sloppy story.

Yeah, maybe I’m being harsh. No one would actually rub one out onto the door of a gas station restroom, right?

…Right?

I open the door and gag. This place stinks, and I can tell it’s not exclusively due to the pepperoni pizza someone left behind on their laxative-lunch break. This stank is foul beyond its years. Also: what’s with the plunger?

I guess this explains the floater. I wouldn’t want to take my chances with the plumbing here, either. Best case scenario: The toilet clogs and you escape un-soaked. Worst case? Say goodbye to your shoes and socks. In fact, say goodbye to your feet. They’re done. Say goodbye to everything, basically. Just say goodbye.

Pardon my fucks, but who the fuck steals the toilet brush cup from a fucking 7-Eleven bathroom? Fucking gross. What can you even use such an item for? Drugs? Beverages? Are you making fucking sand castles with these things? I know times are tough, but come on. Find some better loot! Fuck.

Do the plunger and the toilet brush make you uneasy? Well, you might want to close your eyes if you’re actually thinking about risking the flush. Jesus, people. Maybe you guys need to find a robot who can clean instead of making Valentines day ornaments.

It can’t get any worse than this, can it?

How do I know this is blood? Because no one in their right mind would open a ketchup packet in this shithole. I can barely swallow in this room without food in my mouth. I highly doubt anyone’s casually feasting on french fries while parked on this putrid potty. I will, however, give some credit to the casualty in question for reaching the ceiling with their open, gushing wound.

You’ve got a killer spray there, man.

Ah, finally. Something…good? This wonderful white-out latrinalia on top of the hand-dryer really brings the room together, don’t you think? Really. It fits the themes here perfectly: Communicable diseases, noxious odours, and questionable motives. And while the dryer in here might be a touchless model—if any handsfree appliance is going to give you warts, it’s this one.

That leaves us with the sink.

From a distance…not so bad! The mirror is (relatively) clean. I wouldn’t use it to shave or anything, but it’s been given notably more attention than the rest of the room. I’m not sure I really want to know why it was wiped so recently, though. Perhaps it has something to do with the bloodspray?

Up close, well…Let’s just say I’ll be leaving yet another restroom with my hands unwashed. I ain’t touchin’ them crusty handles. It looks like the faucet is about to ooze out the pink slime monster from Ghostbusters 2.

I’m happy to say that the only other visible slime here is the kind that’s intended for your hands. This Zep 1200 ml Fuzion Wall Mount Dispenser (Model JL 668) is perfectly functional and has a healthy fill of hand soap just waiting to sploodge all over your sticky, dirty digits.

At least they got this part right. However, I must say the advisory message on the dispenser feels like a fucking sardonic slap in the face, considering its surroundings.

The garbage can is in acceptable condition. And by acceptable, I mean not stolen. Honestly though, it’s a good size and fit for the layout of this restroom. I’d almost say it was perfect if it weren’t for the unbearable stench radiating through its cloudy, crud-specked steel walls.

I’m not exaggerating. It smells like someone literally shit their pants and decided to abandon them altogether. Sadly, after opening the lid, it looks like someone did just that.

Alright, I’m officially nauseous. It’s time to get out of here.

Before leaving, I can’t help but notice this switch on the inside of the door, though.

What the heck is this thing? It’s not an occupied switch. It isn’t a lock. It isn’t a fan, (although a fan would have been nice). All I can guess is it’s some sort of notification knob for…something? Cleanliness? (Maybe that’s why it’s flipped downward.)

Whatever. The longer I look at it, the longer I have to inhale the fumes from that filthy flannel diaper in the garbage can.

Anyone know what this thing is? Let me know in the comments! Or at least let me know what you think it is. I may be a restroom reviewer, but I’m sometimes unfamiliar with appliances and features that pre-date the cold-war.

Overall, 7-Eleven has created a spacious, date friendly space well-suited to customers yearning for more than a quick stop for ciggies and a slurpee. Interestingly, this particular 7-Eleven doesn’t show up when Googling “nearby restaurants,” which definitely hurts their potential of finding people like me who are too cheap and/or broke to spend money at an actual restaurant—I mean, a different restaurant.

Having said that, I’d still recommend it as a quirky first-date location for anyone caught under cupid’s spell. Just make sure you freshen up at home.

Smell / Cleanliness	0/5
Functionality	2/5
Accessibility	2/5
Inventory	3/5
Aesthetics	0/5

Toilet Paper Rating: 1.4 / 5