Visiting the toilet facilities on the high speed Southern service back to Barnham from Gatwick, I found myself morphing into Mr L David. I mean, what was wrong with the old fashioned, simple, hinged door cubicles? Gruesome to use, naturally, but eminently practical. No, someone has to devise a ludicrous, crescent shaped entrance wide enough for a car, that opens and closes laboriously at the touch of a button, giving forth to an open plan playground with the same pitiful throne as always wedged into one corner, topped with the familiar stained lid and seat, which need flipping open gingerly with the tip of a shoe, before a urine stream can be sent hopefully in the right direction.
Of course, as soon as I began, the driver applied his brakes and, since there were no nearby walls to lean against, I was jolted off balance, causing liquid mayhem. As I struggled to regain control, the massive door started opening, revealing my antics to half the carriage. Too late, I realised I had forgotten to press the ‘lock’ button.
Can someone explain why the electronic door of a toilet should ever need to shut without at the same time locking itself? What possible eventuality would have a person venture into one of these hideous contrivances, shut the door behind themselves, and be content to have anyone open it while they were inside?
The inventor should be made to stand naked in his own unlocked cubicle while spectators open and close the door at will.
While we’re about it, he or she had engineered three orifices where punters were directed to place their hands: one to bleed soap, another to squirt water, a third to belch hot air. Only the water worked, which explains why wads of damp tissue littered the floor, to which I added a couple of fistfuls of my own.
Haha! So true. I’ve been stood outside before when the door has ponderously opened to reveal someone mid-unzipping their trousers. Highly embarrassing!
I guess like any other door- it only knows to open- it has no idea if someone is actually in the toilet. Like any other door it needs to lock from the inside. Otherwise if someone opens the door and doesn’t go in how could the door be opened again?
Most wise. However, the close button inside could have an automatic close associated with it. But then, i suppose, pesky kids could press the button and then quickly leap out (as the door closes quite slowly), thus rendering the toilet inaccessible…
The thing I find most alarming about train loos (regardless of type of door) is that they place the emergency/panic button on the wall right where one might place a hand to steady themselves mid-stream.
Having three pods that spew forth liquid soap, water and hot air (forgetting for a moment that two of them weren’t working) on the instructions of a sensor activated by the presence of a pair of hands, suggests the inventor of these grotesque facilities could have incorporated a device that automatically closed and locked the doors as soon as it registered someone sentient was inside. This lock would automatically reset if someone tried jumping out at the last minute, as the sensor would no longer register their presence.
What I find most alarming is the prospect of a locked door going the way of the soap spewer and failing to open, with me inside, stabbing futilely on the electronic button.