Blue Badge Dinosaur

ToiletI know I’m going to get slated for saying this, but sometimes I use the disabled toilets, despite not being registered as disabled. I even have a Radar key (which like midget porn and Thai brides, can be bought on the internet) so that I can use those toilets reserved for those privileged, less able-bodied individuals. The reason for pretending to be disabled when I need a poo is very simple.

Public toilets are gross. Even the ones that genuinely are inspected or cleaned on the hour are vile and I suspect that the cleaner responsible actually only checks in a few times a day, ensuring that each hour slot on the checklist (usually found on the back of the main toilet door) is initialled by the end of their shift. In reality though, there are some utter scumbags amongst us who quite happily piss up the walls or wipe shit on the cubicle doors, but only if they’re not too busy sticking needles into their arms.Sink

As such, even the thought of using a public toilet makes me want to squirt bleach into my ears, in the hope that it will reach my brain and cleanse any thoughts of such a hygienic nightmare.

The solution is to use disabled toilets.

Disabled toilets are seldom used so are always slightly cleaner, or at least clean enough to want to enter for a number one or number two. But you’ve struck gold if you come across a disabled toilet which requires a Radar key because even your average chancer won’t have access to it so won’t have had the chance to shit all over the floor.

I try to avoid needing to use a public toilet at all, but at least if I have to, I’ll find one which needs a Radar key so that I can do my business with a lesser chance of catching an STD from the toilet seat.

As I type this, I’m currently on a camp site, which is somewhere where the toilet and shower blocks are never going to be squeaky clean. If you’re lucky, you may find the odd broken toilet seat, unexplained pile of pubes somewhere or water only available as fucking hot. If you’re unlucky, the alternative doesn’t even bear thinking about.

ToiletI’m seriously concerned that I’d come out dirtier than I did when I entered the shower block here, so imagine my relief to see a disabled toilet which requires the use of a Radar key! It’s like the Hilton Hotel of bogs, even with the odd cracked tile, 70’s décor and distinct whiff of cabbage.

Today, whilst dangling my feet from the throne, I realised for the first time that all disabled toilets have the same, bizarre characteristics; tall toilets and tiny sinks.

Not every disabled person travels around in a wheelchair but it’s fair to say that disabled toilets are designed with wheelchair users at the forefront of various safety and design features. I’ve not used a wheelchair or taken any measurements, but surely the toilet within a disabled toilet is higher than the seat of the wheelchair, therefore making it difficult for a disabled person to manoeuvre between the wheelchair and the bog. Is it assumed that all disabled people have unusually long legs, which would allow them to climb to the lofty heights of this gargantuan shitter?

Once a disabled person has abseiled down the side of the toilet and back into their wheelchair (or not, if they don’t have one), they make their way over to the sink to wash their hands. I don’t know if the providers of disabled toilets try to cut costs due to paying for all the extra porcelain which goes into the toilet, but the sinks are ridiculously small- you can barely fit your hands under the tap, let alone give them a good wash.

Why are disabled toilets so tall and the sinks so small? The more I think about it, the less sense it makes. The only explanation is that each and every disabled person is assumed to be a tyrannosaurus rex; grumpy, big legged and small armed.

Either that or  disabled toilet designers want to make it difficult for disabled people to commit suicide- who on earth can drown themselves when the water is that far down or no larger than a small puddle?

Having to climb the toilet and cram my hands into the confines of a miniature sink is a small price to pay for taking a dump in the shit-free, slightly smelly bliss of the spacious, disabled toilet.

Have you ever found a dinosaur in the disabled toilets?

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