Public Toilets: The Great Battlefield of Human Dignity

Let’s talk about something sacred. Not religion... Not politics... Not pineapple on pizza... Let’s talk PUBLIC TOILETS.

You know the ones — in restaurants, pubs, cinemas. The doors always seem a little too short, where the hand dryer begs for its life and coughs on your hands, or you wave them around so long to get that damn plastic box to work that you end up drying yourself on your own pants when you getting out.

The toilet paper holders are either locked like Tower of London or hanging by a single screw. And there’s always one cubicle that looks like it’s been hit by a small tornado carrying a Taco Bell enthusiast.

Why Are Public Toilets a Messy Crime Scene?

Seriously, what happens to people the moment they step into a public toilet? Is there a gravitational shift? A temporary loss of coordination? Or is it simply that public toilets activate a primal urge in humans to act like raccoons let loose in a Boots clearance bin?

The evidence speaks for itself:

• Toilet paper everywhere — like someone fought a mummy and lost.

• Puddles of mystery liquid. (We don’t ask. We just… hop.)

• Unflushed horrors that look like someone tried to smuggle a burrito back out.

• And the king's scepter: the toilet brush that is never touched, because, obviously, it guards the portal to a dimension of eternal regret.

The Theatre Experience (Or: “Class Isn’t in the Bowels”)

Now, let me take you behind the curtain. Yes — I was once a cleaner in a theatre.

A theatre! A place of art, culture, Shakespearean monologues, and ticket prices that require a small mortgage. You’d think this place would be full of intelligent, wine-sipping, opera-clapping, posh people.

You’d be wrong.

Backstage? Classy. On stage? Elegant. Toilets? World War III: The Porcelain Front.

I used to walk in with my little mop and big dreams, expecting the bathroom to smell like lavender and class. Instead, I found:

• Entire toilet rolls unraveled like someone tried to make a paper escape rope.

• Tampons stuck to the walls like a Banksy installation gone rogue.

• Someone had written “Help me” in lipstick on the mirror, and honestly, I felt that.

It was like posh people transformed the moment they entered the loo. Some kind of toilet demon took over. They weren’t flushing because maybe — just maybe — they believed their 💩 belonged in the Tate Modern.

 Is there a gravitational shift?

The Grand Conclusion: Public Toilets Are Where Masks Come Off (Literally and Figuratively)

If I learned one thing in my time as a cleaner, it’s this:

In the theatre of life, everyone becomes a goblin when they enter a public toilet.

The woman in pearls? She’s the reason all the hand soap is now on the ceiling. And that family of four? They’ve somehow created a bathroom landscape that looks like an abstract painting titled “Panic at the Curry Buffet.”

So next time you enter a public toilet, remember: You are not alone. You are entering a shared portal to chaos, where toilet rolls fear for their lives, that hedgehog on a stick is not only for fighting the dragon, and cleanliness is but a distant, unreachable utopia.

And if you’re the one leaving the mess?

I hope your home toilet returns the favor. 😈💩

Stay clean. Or at least, aim better.