The Hidden History of Gas Station Bathrooms, By a Man Who Cleans Them
My job involves mopping up the urine-soaked garbage holes that motorists take for granted. But in another era, the public took great pride in the glory of roadside restrooms.
Illustrations by Cristina Spanò
A bald man rounded the corner by the ATM machine. He was coming back from the bathroom with the look. I’d been at the gas station a couple months, so I knew the look. It’s a grimace with pursed lips that says: I feel dirty. We locked eyes long enough for him to shake his head. That little swivel filled me with anxiety. Our bathrooms weren’t filthy. For one of the busiest gas stations in Pittsburgh, they were OK. And no, that’s not good enough, but does an OK inner-city public restroom deserve a public shaming? Because that’s usually what accompanies the look, a cry of: That bathroom is disgusting! Then people within earshot make the look, too. Expecting a scene, my muscles tightened as I rang up a customer. But the guy with the look didn’t embarrass me. He stood aside and waited. His blue, checkered dress shirt was tucked into khakis, and he sported a thin, whitish-blonde mustache that matched the ring of hair around his head. When the customer left, he …