by T. Lynn Wright

Created on: May 24, 2009

The road to certification of Professional Bathroom Finder for the OCD and proud mother of Bathroom Policeman was long and arduous. My first obstacle course was the evening commute from city to country on the interstate with a phobic four year old. The rest area bathroom was dim, dank and would have scouted perfectly for a lurid low-budget horror film. The terrified blue eyes of my son and the wrinkling of his nose were not yet enough to deter me. I tried to tug him inside, assuring him he could just get through it long enough to..... but his shrill exclamation at what awaited in the stall, well, I refer back to possible horror film titles. I stopped in desperaton at a Taco Bell, but the reams of toilet paper and standing water on the floor were shudder-inducing deterrents. Finally, I pulled onto the shoulder, left the car door open for privacy and coached my child to pee in the grass. We managed to endure this ecological affront and made it home safely. For the next few years I performed my duties admirably, recalling the doctor's words. "He can't help it-don't try using logic with OCD."

Some years later we were returning from a trip to SeaWorld, and we stopped at a popular restaurant chain outside the state capital. My son was old enough to take himself to the bathroom at this point. I waited at the table with my sister and my niece, and moments later, my unique, very passionate child appeared in the doorway of the restrooms.

"Mom, their bathrooms are disgusting!" he proclaimed. My eyes widened as the necks of several patrons performed Linda Blair-like swivels. "I have decided that when I grow up, I am going to be a bathroom policeman." "I'm going to stand outside the bathroom and check it when people leave." he announced. "If they leave a mess, I will make them go back and clean it up."

I tried the usual maternal hissing and facial contortions that usually translate into "Get over here." but he was on his indignant soapbox.My sister chuckled and shrugged. "If the bathroom is that bad, the staff deserves whatever he says."

So, life with the Bathroom Police goes on. He can tell you which places in town are biohazards, and which places on the way to Seattle are worthy of professional restroom critics. He will no doubt compile a photographic chronicle of this career into a novelty coffee table book. He still walks tentatively when he approaches a new location, leaning forward, skeptical. Cue the horror film music.

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