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It may seem odd writing about bathrooms. But there¹s a method to
my madness. I had a traumatizing experience when I visited an old haunt of
mine. I used to be a Whiskey Saigon baby on Sunday nights. I went there for
years until it became "Joe". I went to check it out a few months ago, even
though I had this horrible feeling that I shouldn't. It's bad enough that the
whole place was stripped down to barren décor and the crowd left much to
be desired. But when I walked into the bathroom -GASP!- I found an attendant in
there.
That¹s when I realized how much charm there is to a gritty
bathroom. It's not that I like dirt and muck and broken toilets. There¹s
something about the bathroom at your favorite club that holds memories, good
and bad. It's a personal space; a refuge, if you will. It's a place to escape
that guy or girl who's bugging you. A place to sneak an illicit substance, to
rest when you've had one to many, to make out, to fix your makeup, to gossip,
to brag, to bitch, to cry. And let's face it, a bathroom attendant is like your
younger sibling sneaking into your bedroom when you were growing up--
they¹re annoying, intrusive, and you want to smack them.
I abhor
bathroom attendants. The last thing I want is someone standing in the same room
as me and listen as I pee. They have the audacity to jump me with soap and
paper towels the second I emerge from the stall. The attendants have forgotten
the fact that I¹m an adult, and I have been doing all this stuff by myself
for quite some time. Some establishments even get their bathroom girls to spray
you with perfume. What the hell is that about? If I want to smell like the
knockoff perfume counter at Wal-Mart, I can do it myself. Then they expect me
to drop change into their little bowls. Try again, honey.
The bathroom
is an obvious necessity when enjoying a drink or two, or eight. But the ones in
those Richmond St. clubs, with their bright lights, stainless-steel countertops
and shiny floors, just don't seem right. It doesn't even feel like you should
be peeing because everything is so pristine. Granted, these bathrooms are
spotless, and somehow they never smell like beer, vomit, or those weird little
urinal pucks. But what they¹re missing is the charm of a bathroom that has
seen you through all those crazy nights and carry the scars of drunken
debauchery. Examples: The fun graffiti. (My favorite being in Velvet where it
says "Don't hate the media- become the media". Oh yeah, then there¹s
³Kevin has a big cock.² Good to know, should I ever run into him one
day.) There¹s the peeling paint, revealing years gone by in layers of
colours. And the door ads with the face of a slutty looking girl, complete with
the magic marker devil horns and goatee, get funnier the more drinks
you¹ve had.
Herewith, a commentary on various bathrooms in our
Gothic scene:
Sanctuary:
Without a doubt, the most
frightening excuse for a toilet I've ever had to endure. There was nothing
charming about it. The bathroom was as notorious as the bar itself. It was
terrifying to have to use it and I usually only went once the entire evening
because that was all I could bear. By the end of the night, my friends and I
would race out of the club to find somewhere to pee-- an alley or coffee shop
so we wouldn't have to use the one in the bar. Squatting behind cars and
giggling ourselves to death is a fond memory. In one bathroom experience, a
large black bug was walking right towards me. (Or to be more accurate, he was
swimming towards me because of the constant layer of mystery liquid on the
floor.) I managed the perilous dance of doing the pee squat and crushing the
offending creature with my right foot. There was no primping space to speak of
and the mirror had permanent smog on it.
But I will say this-- when
Sanctuary closed its doors, not only did I miss the club terribly, but I almost
became nostalgic about the bathroom.
Velvet
Underground:
I love the bathroom here. There is something
about it that makes you want to socialize. I can't keep track of the number of
couples I've heard making out in the stalls-- myself included back in the day.
There's something about being in the basement, I think.
It's a bathroom
where I see girls primping the most. Compliments over outfits, and lipstick are
common. And if you ever need a hand with anything, your fellow club girls are
more than willing to help when your outfit is acting up on you.
In terms of
the boys side, I think this is the first men¹s bathroom that has a
perpetual line-up. I poked my head in there once. There appears to be a lack of
facilities, which makes me wonder-- when the pipes are ready to burst, so to
speak, and the line-up is out the door, what do they do? Actually, I don¹t
want to know.
The
Vatikan:
It doesn't matter if it's the height of summer or
the dead of winter, this bathroom is so freaking HOT! Hot air blows on me every
time I go. Nothing exciting really happens in there, probably because it's so
small. That said, it reminds me of the student res I used to live in-- it was
small, and dank and the hot water was virtually non-existent. But it was
comfortable. The fog on the mirror reminds me of Sanctuary. And I love the
purple and gold paint job.
Savage Garden:
God forbid you should be a
size 10 and use a bathroom here. Tiny is the operative word. But I love the
fact that you have to walk right through the bar to get to it. It gives you a
great chance to scope that crowd and do a little rundown with your friends once
you're in the confines of the bathroom.
And because it's so tiny, the
friendliness ensues. You are closed in with a bunch of other girls and
naturally you begin talking about your night and bemoaning the fact that you
downed five Labatt Ice in one hour. On a weird note, I get a real kick out of
the fact that there is a container of liquid soap that's not bolted to the
wall. You rarely see that in any establishment nowadays. It seems like that
touch of home right there at the bar.
Funhaus:
It¹s the biggest bathroom I've
ever been to at a club. Lots of mirrors. Four whole stalls. And I love the
little nook around the corner where you can touch up your makeup or gossip with
your girlfriend about that cutie on the dance floor. All that space is so
exciting. In fact, one girl burst into a rant, telling me how she loved the
size. She proceeded to dance in front of the sinks, flailing her arms to prove
her point.
There is something that freaks out us taller girls in this
bathroom. The stalls seem short. I feel like someone could easily peer over the
top and look at me. One night I was in line with a girl who insisted on waiting
for the big stall with floor to ceiling walls because the other stalls bugged
her. ³I can¹t pee if I think someone can peep.² Eloquently put,
my friend. Then there¹s this mystery toilet in the corner that looks like
it has seen way to many bad nights. I don¹t know what happened to it, but
it¹s time to haul that baby out and seal up the wall.
I¹ll wrap
up with a story about when Funhaus was the Zoo Bar. Along the wall outside of
the bathrooms was a series of curtained booths. One night, as I put on my lip
gloss, I heard some dull banging on the wall behind me. Why have a quickie in
the bathroom when you can have one in your very own booth? I swear they were
going to come through the wall. Utterly amusing.
Batcave- New York
City:
There¹s no such thing as the boy's bathroom and girl's
bathroom at Batcave, or any other Goth club in NYC for that matter. The
situation is like this: whichever bathroom you're closest to when you've got to
go is the one you use. I was a little taken aback the first time when I was
waiting in line and guy in a snazzy black coat walked out. I looked in and
expected a girl to follow. Nope. He was legitimately taking a pee. And I
wasn¹t in the wrong bathroom. So the next time I explored the guy's and
the situation was the same.
I must say, it's kind of nice having the boys
in the girl¹s bathroom. I was fixing my make-up one time when a guy said,
"You couldn't possibly make yourself prettier." Bullshit or not, I didn't care.
I walked out of there with an empty bladder and a full ego. It's all one big
happy family here.
And much to my delight, not a bathroom attendant to
be seen in any of these clubs. Let¹s keep it that way.
posted
June 16th 2004 |
Darq Angel has been living in
Toronto for 15 years. An avid reader, writer, club-goer, and music lover, she
has been a lurker in Toronto's gothic scene, floating around quietly, casting
her dark shadow over various clubs and events in the city. 