OP-ED; In search of toilets, it's an ad, ad world

Thomas M. KEANE, Jr.
865 words
9 August 2002
Boston Herald
All Editions
025
English
(Copyright 2002)

Fourteen feet tall and 5 feet wide, the steel goliath looms over the corner of Dartmouth and Stuart streets, just outside the Back Bay train station. One sees it from what seems to be miles away. What is it? The beginnings of a new skyscraper? A monolith that promises humankind an evolutionary leap forward?

As I walk closer, I find myself thinking that I could really use a drink. Something fruity, perhaps. Maybe something from an island.

"We're juice guys."

Emblazoned on the gigantic walls of the monolith are ads for Nantucket Nectars. The ads are stacked on top of each other, reaching like the Tower of Babel into the sky.

Puzzled, I walk around. On one side I see two pay phones.

It's a phone booth.

A few feet away is another structure, this one with an advertisement showing three gorgeous women wearing underwear so risque that for a moment I think I must be in the Combat Zone.

But this is no phone booth. I walk around this one too, trying to figure out what it is. On its back side is a map of Boston. But who could possibly know? The map faces a concrete wall, turned away from the heavily traveled intersection.

I can imagine the passing tourists. "Honey, I can't figure this city out. We'll never find Cheers."

"Wait, dear, we're saved! There's a lingerie ad!"

These maps, phone booths and also bus stops are popping up all over, from Kenmore Square to the North End to Charlestown. They are the QUID PRO QUO,punishment really, for Boston's dream of putting public bathrooms around the city.

Here's the deal. A few years ago, while on a trip to San Francisco, Mayor Thomas Menino was smitten with that city's public toilets. He came back determined that Boston should have the same.

But the mayor is also a frugal man, and he didn't want to unnecessarily spend scare city resources ("No!," I expect he said, "I'd rather the money go to the Finance Commission, so they can better audit my administration's spending!"). Instead, he wanted the public toilet companies to install the devices free, to be paid for by unobtrusive and tasteful advertisements placed on their sides. Eventually the program expanded to include an array of what city officials like to call street furniture - bus stops, newsstands and the like.

The bidding for the right to do this was hot, with the nod eventually going to a German company called Wall, which said it would manufacture the street furniture in Boston.

No question, the toilets are a great idea. They're attractive and, amazingly, smaller than the phone booths. Pop a quarter in the side and doors whoosh open, just like on the Starship Enterprise. The bathroom is spacious; most of us would be thrilled to have something this large at home. It's clean, smells fresh and Muzak is playing in the background. There's an automatic faucet, soap dispenser and hand dryer. When finished, push a button and the doors whoosh open again. Exit and a few minutes later one hears the sound of rushing water as the entire interior of the toilet is cleaned and disinfected.

A pretty cool experience for just 25 cents.

There are, to be sure, a few quirks. Outside the toilet are instructions for its use: Nine steps in all. New users stand, scratching their heads, as they try to puzzle through what appears to be an enormously complex task. One step tells a prospective user to insert $0,25. The comma is telling; Europeans use commas instead of decimal points. They may be made in America, but they're still designed in Germany.

In addition, there have been allegations that the toilets are being used for illicit activities, such as prostitution. In response, Wall has said it would shorten the permitted time in the bathroom from 20 minutes to 10. Note to Wall: This may deter German men. For Americans, it's still plenty enough time.

But the biggest quirk of all is this: The new street furniture is seemingly everywhere, with lingerie maps and juice-guy phone booths wherever people are to be found. But so far, there are only three toilets.

That's right, three. A fourth is promised by the end of the year. There are supposed to be eight in all, but no one at Wall USA seems to know when or where.

That means the entire city now has the same number of bathrooms as you'll find in one new home in the suburbs.

The tail is wagging the dog here. The phone booths are an abomination; the proliferation of cell phones makes pay phones almost obsolete anyway. The maps are just pretexts for more advertising space. And the bus stops - clear glass all around so the ads can be seen from everywhere - aren't much more comfortable than what they replaced.

We wanted toilets. Instead, we got billboards.

Tom Keane can be reached at tomkeane@tomkeane.com.

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