Guest policy got you down? Roommate too mired in a game of Warcraft III to give you five minutes alone? Never fear, folks! The kind-hearted officials who run our grand city have given you something that John Silber never will: a private love-nest for 75 cents an hour!
Responding to numerous complaints that Boston lacks public restrooms and tacky slogans, the Menino administration has installed pay toilets in strategic locations (read: tourist traps) throughout the city. Each sleek, black, half-moon shaped monolith is truly a marvel of modern architecture. Decorated with breathtaking photographs of local landmarks and adorned with astute witticisms such as ‘Boston: The intersection of commerce and quaint,’ these futuristic kiosks will certainly usher in a new era of comfort, style and efficiency in the arts of public urination and excretion.
They also provide ideal settings for late-night trysts.
For those who can’t afford singles and whose roommates avoid nights out like reverse vampires (thank you, Simpsons), these low-cost lavatories are blessings in disguise. Even a soused CGS freshman could operate one: simply put in a quarter, select whether you want a toilet, a urinal or (for more adventurous types) both, and the doors open Starship Enterprise style (those with Klingon fetishes, take note!). Once you walk in, the doors swiftly shut, leaving you and your lover sealed inside a pleasantly lit, climate-controlled chamber that provides ample space for two or more to comfortably sit, stand, kneel, bend and, if you’re willing to risk the floor, lie down.
The most important feature of these revolutionary restrooms, of course, is the price: 25 cents for 20 minutes. And if you’re feeling long-winded, re-entry is as simple as leaving, standing outside for a few minutes and paying again. A word to the wise, however: bumping and grinding your way into the door release button may create an embarrassing spectacle.
From a Boston University student’s perspective, the toilet located in City Hall Plaza is ideal for amorous encounters. It’s a stone’s throw from Government Center on the Green Line (if the T isn’t running, a brisk walk will get the blood moving), and after 11 p.m., the last tourists will have trickled out of Faneuil Hall.
Ergo, by midnight, the only people on the streets who may use the restroom for its intended purpose will be straggling drunks and bums. Since the former will just as likely defile a wall and the latter doesn’t have 25 cents to piss away, I can guarantee that the toilet will provide a safe, private haven for you and yours well into the wee hours of morning.
As if these dirt-cheap love-booths weren’t enough of a bargain already, the mayor and his cronies threw in a bonus: once you’ve done your dirty deeds, the chambers clean themselves! That means no more changing your sheets every time your parents visit, no more strange looks from your roommate when he smells musky odors on his chair and, best of all, no more embarrassing Crisco stains on the carpet!
Bolder couples in search of a steamier situation may remain in the compartment during the cleaning process, but be warned: nobody is quite sure how these things are washed. So if you and yours turn up as soggy, mangled, nude corpses the next day, don’t come back to haunt me.
Some may believe that paying to have sex in a public bathroom is unromantic or even perverse, but I disagree. In this morally permissive age, we’ve become accustomed to sacrificing romance for expediency. Also, trifling inconveniences such as STDs and pregnancy make lovin’ an expensive undertaking anyway. Condoms cost a dollar each, birth control pills are even pricier and I won’t get into IUDs (you know, those ‘cervical implants’ that resemble futuristic turkey basters).
John Silber suggests we rent hotel rooms for our trysts (aside to the developers of Hotel Commonwealth: please cover that thing back up! The first time I saw its full frontal beige and brick nudity, I had an instant flashback to the time I walked in on my aunt Mary. It looked a lot better behind the fences and green mesh, and it even had that ‘perpetual construction’ chic going for it, which seems to be quite popular on campus these days).
But until we all make the president/chancellor’s salary, I predict Boston’s pay toilets will see more than their share of action. And hey, perhaps more of us will learn to find ways around the guest policy instead of just bitching about it.
Unfortunately, I discovered these hidden houses of pleasure after my girlfriend left for England earlier this month. So, O gentle reader, heed my advice while you can; she’ll be back in April.
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