Restroom reviews from the collapse of American sanitation
Clean, stocked, working. The Correspondent is suspicious but grateful.
I expected nothing. Forty miles from the nearest stoplight, at a two-pump station whose sign had lost its second vowel years ago, I braced for the worst and found a room so clean it made me question my own assumptions about the human race.
Eighty-three toilets, every one flushed, every floor dry, staff moving through the room with the grim purpose of a Secret Service detail. Cintas named it America's Best Restroom in 2012. The Correspondent considers that an understatement bordering on slander.
At three in the morning, after the casinos have taken everything a man brought with him and some things he did not, the Lucky Clover is still open. The coffee is still hot. The pie case still turns. And the restroom in back is kept so clean that it borders on an act of defiance.