“Get over it!”
How many times have people said that when somebody is harping on about an issue that bugs them?
Cammie was very patient. I constantly whinged to her about the dreadful toilet area at work and she graciously listened. But I wasn’t satisfied. She was not giving me the sympathy I craved.
“You need to see it for yourself!” I urged.
Now, I’m not a diva. I’m happy to roll up my sleeves and get knee-deep in muck. I’ve endured mission trips where the only toilets amongst 150 campers were 6 outside hole-in-the-ground efforts where one could hear everything going on in the space next door. The doors were so low a tall person could walk past and wave. No seat, no flush, just a hole the size of a can of beans and the hope that your thigh muscles were strong enough to hold you in the squat position for the duration of your ablutions.
But this toilet room was in a league of its own.
One day when Cammie popped in to purchase a journal, I dragged her upstairs to the staff area.
“Casper won’t mind.” I said. “Burglars have wandered up here and been so traumatised, they’ve run back down and cleared us out of counselling books.”
As we walked past the unlockable lockers (we are a charity), I stopped by the entrance of the Room of Doom.
Cammie had glimpsed the ‘kitchen’ and pulled back, frightened by what she saw. I grinned with satisfaction. The emotion I had desired was soon to be displayed.
I pushed the toilet door open so she could get a good look, although she was already gagging at the sight of the ‘kitchen’s’ draining board.
She looked around the cubicle in silence then said in one of her high-pitched whispers,
“This is nothing like you described! It’s so much worse!”
Long pause.
“It’s Alcatraz!”
I was delighted that she not only had gone into the much-awaited hysteria, but she had blessed the wretched place with a most apt name.
As mentioned in the chapter about the staff, Cammie eventually ended up getting a job at the shop, but unless she was desperate, she avoided Alcatraz like the plague. She would dash off to use the facilities in MacDonald’s down the road.
I have seen pictures of Alcatraz prison – the ones with the lime green walls, and they look more inviting than what we had to face on a daily basis. Not to mention, these cells actually had a sink to wash your hands. Oh, did I not mention that? We had no sink. The window behind the loo was high up and dirty – dark brown glass. Infront of the windows was a thick steel railing, like the ones one would see in a jail. Why anyone in the right state of mind would be tempted to enter this room from the outside is a question yet to be answered.
Outside of the cubicle was a filthy recess that contained a Belfast sink. I am not going to elaborate at this point for fear of venturing into too much negativity. Ha, you may well laugh and state that I am there already. Little do you know…
But my desire is not to shame anyone or point blame – just to say that the staff who dared place their mugs into this sink knew that it doubled-up as the sink for the toilet. I kept my mug in my locker and left everybody else to their own choices.
Casper had often complained to Head Office about the unhygienic situation.
In case you are wondering what all the fuss is about: Some residential houses have a loo with a separate sink area, but that sink is not then used for washing dishes. Also, this applies to a single family. Toilets are not supposed to open onto a kitchen area unless there are double doors and even in these cases, the toilet is supposed to have a sink inside the same cubicle. Common sense tells you that if somebody hasn’t got a sink in their toilet cubicle, the lock and door handle is always going to contain germs. This is not acceptable in a work situation, where as many as 14 are using the same toilet and then placing bacteria onto the kitchen taps.
Sorry to be a bore with my repetition, but the reply from Head Office was that they did not see this important enough to do anything about it and we should just praise the Lord and accept our lot because,
“We are a charity.”
For the rest of her time working at the shop, Cammie continued to escape to the yellow arches whenever she needed the toilet. This practice made her look like a suitable partner for Louise, for each time they worked together, Cammie would be seen dancing along with her. The two of them appeared to be the perfect duo, but in reality, Cammie was just desperate to visit McDonalds.
Despite my own restroom angst, I thank God for Alcatraz. It gives me good memories of a place where nobody apart from my colleagues could ever believe existed in the middle of a posh town. It also gives me fond memories of Cammie, who made me laugh even more than Casper did.
