Review My Loo: The Chemistry Department
LOU ROHL reviews the Chemistry department toilets, giving them a floating 2.5 stars…
Situated in the basement of the department, these dunny dungeons service the hundreds of Chemists and frequenters of the Bristol Myers Squib lecture theatre. Their design is to deal with the high capacity through flow of Catab craps and it shows.
Upon entry I was greeted by harsh lighting emanating from squares in the ceiling. The lab style glow was hardly romantic (if only it were candle lit…), but considering people shit and piss here, this can be overlooked. The room consists of seven cubicles, six urinals, six sinks, two showers (anyone want to get soapy, winky face), two air blade driers and a sizable mirror.
After checking myself out in the mirror and freaking out an Asian Phd student by taking a panorama photo (I have an iphone 5 deal with it), I entered one of the chosen seven. The cubicle was medium sized, with enough room to drop your bag but not much else. No coat hook meant I had to shove all my stuff on the thankfully urine free floor. Of note were the low torque loo seat, easily liftable (try it with your tongue if you’re adventurous) and the transparent paper holder: perfect to assess supplies before letting rip. As battle commenced, I was able to log onto lapwing, look at cats wearing tights on buzz feed and buy Lionel Richie’s greatest hits on itunes; look CUSU Women’s officer, men can multi-task as well! The internet connection was definitely needed to help stem my current doodle jump addiction (Ok I do wish it were 2009). I found the paper to be a bit thin: disappointingly it was the typical cheap industrial kind, only found in schools, old people’s homes and German airports.
Zipping up my trousers, I went to explore the rest of the place. The urinals were made by Armitage Shanks, some say the Armani of wee holes, having a specific low splash curve calculated by science, useful if you are in a rush or have a horse’s penis. The sinks again were industrial, with taps hot enough to boil a ham and with missing tiles surrounded by warning tape. If only I were a porcine delicious treat, then I would be able to cook and crap myself in full comfort.
Anyway, the Mitsubishi Dyson-rip-off airblades were enough to redeem this place from a two star review. In short, if you need to go in Chemistry do, but be warned it’s lavs are on an impersonal factory line scale, without full home comforts and a decent magazine rack with this month’s edition of Tatler.