Train Toilets

INTRODUCTION

Thoughts. We all have issues when it comes to train toilets. We’ve all been in that situation. I just wish there were some rules we could all follow that would make our journeys less embarrassing and stressful. I’ll try to explain the issues we face and also how we could improve them today.

Let’s start with the embarrassing story to begin with, and for once, I think this is somewhat relatable. One day, I’d say around four months ago, I had an incident on a train. As always, it was after an evening of fun. Now, when I’m drunk, I don’t feel shame or embarrassment, so amazingly, the situation wasn’t a bother for me. But at any other time, I would’ve tried to flush myself down the toilet, even given the state train toilets are in these days. It would be too much to leave the toilet and confront all the passengers, who in my mind are disapproving of me and shaking their heads — when, realistically, they don’t actually care.

Now, back on track. Sorry, bad pun, but you get the point. On a train, there are two types of toilets. Let’s first talk about the small ones. I’d say they’re probably fine for children or shorter people. However, as someone who towers over most, it’s a process that takes a method and a lot of strategy.

For me, the stuff I need to think about:

• If it’s a train journey I’m familiar with, where are the bumps or shaky parts?

• When does the train usually brake the hardest?

• Is there a family in that part of the carriage, or anyone I respect too much?

At that point, I’m not sure what’s going to happen when I enter that toilet. But when I leave, there may be a smell, a trail of toilet paper, or an absolute massacre depending on whether I’ve analysed the train’s movements correctly.

There sort of needs to be one smooth action from the moment you open the door to the moment you sit down, as being seated rather than standing has the least amount of risk. There’s no way you can mess up if you’re sat down. If you’re standing, you have no control. If an unpredicted bump comes up, it’s over. All respect is gone. No one likes you at that point. All you’ve done is made the cleaner’s job harder.

I’m not sure how cleaners start the job — whether they work from the back and make their way up to the first carriage, which I think would give a sense of achievement. Now, if I messed up the toilet in the second carriage, then it’s like beating the final boss in a game. You either win with flying colours or create more work by being sick all over the floor and the seats, depending on what horrors you’ve seen. Sometimes it might be your fault, sometimes not. That’s down to the train driver. Although I’m not sure they have the ability to make the ride less bouncy.

Now, some things I don’t like about this type of toilet. It’s incredibly cramped. It’s a struggle to wash your hands, dry them, and then leave the toilet with any dignity, as you sort of have to squeeze yourself out the door. It’s too thin, so you just smash into one wall and then the other most of the time. The only positive I can find in this vessel of shit is a working lock on the door. Most of you know where I’m going with this.

The Next Toilet: The ‘Improvement’ That Isn’t

The next toilet. The improvement. The development. Which, I think, is no better. They’ve improved a lot of things, like the space in the toilet — which sometimes makes me wonder, is it too big? What do they expect you to do in there? I think what they should’ve done is put the toilet in the middle so it’s like you’re in the round at a theatre. But instead, you’re placed in the very corner, in the smallest part of the room, looking out into the fields of open space which is in reach, but obviously, you can’t shit on the floor.

Back to the Story

I boarded my train home, which is a long-ish journey taking just under an hour. And when I’m drunk, I don’t listen to music. Mainly because if I do, I’m listening to one sort of music and singing a completely different type. I can’t do it.

And I hear you say, “Why can’t you play the song you’re singing?” And my response: I could, but where’s the fun in that?

For example, when I’m in a large city, I don’t use Google Maps. The only time I use it is when I’m seeing how long it’ll take to walk somewhere so I can try to beat Google Maps and feel pretty good about myself. But the way I get around is by buildings. London Bridge? The Shard. Other buildings? Don’t know the names, but I walk towards them. That’s how you find your course. I could easily get my phone out and use an efficient, predetermined route — but where’s the fun in that? Life is about getting lost and finding your own way. Most of the time it’s a waste of time and you’re either late or really lost, but sometimes you find a quicker route. One that Google Maps hasn’t thought of, as it doesn’t consider walking through a shop with doors on both sides.

The Sushi Incident

But on this drunk journey, I decided to eat some sushi. I like trying new things, but this didn’t sit right. That evening, I also had a chocolate tarte — or half of it. So by the time this journey happened, I hadn’t really eaten much, and I’d definitely drunk a bit more. So, as the sushi hit my stomach, I thought: this is going to be somewhat of a disaster.

And remember, the shame or embarrassment I’d normally feel had taken the day off. So I rushed and scrambled to pick up all my stuff, which sounds like a lot but truthfully was just my phone, headphones, sushi, water bottle, and a Jammy Dodger. Not a lot. But even though it was a rarely empty train, I still take precautions. If I’m going to the loo, I’m taking all my stuff with me. One reason to have a waterproof bag. Sorry, but it’s true.

Now, from the choice of toilets, I picked the larger one. I thought there’d be less to think about.
How wrong I was.

The door isn’t made for explosive shitters. It’s the slowest-moving thing on the planet. Why does it proceed to mock you by holding you back, stopping you from decimating the toilet with a mix of sushi, tarte, and alcohol? Then, once the door opens, you stride in and shut the door. But it’s not a good old slam. It’s a slow-moving slide to a soft close.

Now, because this is a handleless door, the lock isn’t on the door — in fact, it’s on the wall. Once I sat down and forgot to hit the lock button — while unleashing hell onto the toilet — I couldn’t reach the lock. It was like, at every stage, the toilet was laughing at me. Subtle torture for choosing to use it that day.

If the bathroom had feelings, I’d respect it at this point after what it’s been through. I could empathise with it. But it doesn’t, so I don’t need to do any of that, and instead, I very much dislike it.

Rules for Survival

The main rule I think should be followed is that once you’ve finished in the loo, just leave the door open — or, if possible, slightly ajar. This may not improve your overall journey, but it will save all of us from the embarrassing situation of someone opening the door while you’re in there and haven’t locked it.

For me, I was sat there, putting the world to rights, and suddenly all I hear is the slow, subtle hiss of the door opening. A breeze entered. It turned out the one other person on this fucking train decided to do a normal thing by going to the loo. But from my perspective, it was a shit version of Naked Attraction that neither of us wanted to play.

Once the door was open and I was fully exposed, we made eye contact. Obviously, this was a little awkward and not the time for small talk — but that’s my thing. So, instead of saying “Please could you close that?” or “Oh shit, I’m so, so sorry,” I just said, “Having a good evening?” Just a swift nod, not breaking eye contact, and then the button was pressed. The door was now closing. Slowly. Painfully.

I finished off my battles, then tried to wash my hands. Which went as well as expected. The soap wouldn’t dispense — and then dumped it all out at once. The water isn’t a shower or a nice trickle, it’s a jet wash to your hands. And then the hand dryer? Surprisingly, it isn’t like a normal hand dryer. It’s more powerful and actually dries your hands. No complaints about that one.

The Escape

I then left the toilet and sprinted for the first carriage, hoping that this person wasn’t there. I just sat down and got on with the rest of the journey.