About a week ago I had the pleasure of taking the Surfliner from Los Angeles to Oceanside, Ca. This was a vista, double-decker train car. The seats reclined very nicely and there was even a 120V outlet at the seat. I wish I'd have known this since I would have brought my iPod to charge - having noticed it was dead before I departed, I left the thing at home. Anyhow after a couple cans of Pepsi I needed to access the grand throne. I just realized that this has the set-up and feel of a Penthouse Forum article, so let me assure you that it's only about the subject at hand. Not that I've read Penthouse Forum. Not recently, at least. We've all experienced puberty. No winky winky on my blog.
Anyhow I descended the stairs in Car #2 and found the restroom at the bottom of the steps. The doorway was a curved, sliding-on-a-track jobby, which when unlatched revealed a surprisingly spacious and sparkling interior. The floor was unfortunately made of linoleum, and that would automatically downgrade the level of quality in any bathroom, regardless. The pattern was unassuming; that quasi-mosaic pattern you see in lots of people's homes. It was curling where the floor met the wall, and again I have to say in such a form of transportation that a metal or solid plastic floor would be greatly preferable. I do understand that other materials might be heavier and that weight is certainly watched closely where fuel costs are involved. In this case I was willing to overlook the surface beneath my feet. The toilet was much like those found on any commercial airplane. I've not been on a private jet so for all I know they have porcelain thrones with warm water bidets. Upon flushing it made a sweeping suction sound which I have heretofore only associated with pressurized high altitude travel, and so my supposition that the suction thing actually had something to do with flying at 37,000 feet may have just been rendered incorrect. I have been known to be wrong occasionally. Very rarely. Sometimes.
The soap dispenser, too like a Southwest jet, was positioned at an angle just above the basin. It offered a nicely scented cream, though the variety of fragrance was not memorable. The sink had hot and cold water handles, and surprises of surprises - there was an electric hand drier! I was amazed, and yet when you consider the costs, it's probably cheaper to operate something like that than it is to deal with the waste and fuss of all those paper towels. Where are you gonna throw all that paper on a long trip? What, dump it off the train indiscriminately in a field or something? This all made sense. Someone had his or her thinking cap on when this service room was designed.
Later on the train, some folks were watching a DVD of some TV show on their computer. I wanted to steal the computer. But they looked like they were in a gang or probably knew gang members or something so they probably would have killed me. I didn't know that gang people took the Surfliner. Gang People. Boo.
Another train bathroom was one I used when traveling between Budapest and Krakow. At least it used to be a bathroom. It was more like a booth with a hole or something. It looked like someone very angry had decided to take a baseball bat and maybe an axe to it some years before, and whichever government just didn't have the funds to rehabilitate the damn thing. That whole train trip was another thing entirely. There was barely anywhere to sit, and awakening at 5 a.m to someone in a thick accent shouting "Auschwitz! Auschwitz!" was just not my idea of a happy morning.
The Surfliner bathroom gets a solid rating (no pun intended) of 3 rolls of toilet paper.
Happiness at least.
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