Not surprisingly this is about a subject close to my heart.
It was one of the first things I noticed after we landed in Vancouver. In public toilets the seats are low and the gaps under the door large. It was rather disconcerting, sitting down and being convinced that people must be able to see one's bottom.
On a similar subject, while walking round Lake Malign (pronounced Maleen) with Husband I suddenly tapped him on the shoulder and declared, 'I've got it! I've spotted a gap in the Canadian book market!'
'What they need is a book on poo.'
'I mean it's all very well being able to tell the difference between a grizzly and a black bear if you see one but wouldn't it be more useful to know if a bear of any sort is in the area and, even more importantly, if he's only just left?'
'I've seen lots of poo but I don't know who left it. It could be a bear's or a chipmunk's. If you could say that it was a bear's and, furthermore, that it was still warm, you'd know you should leave the area quickly. (Unless you're David McMahon who stops to take photos of charging bears.)'
I was still very excited by my idea when we got back to the cafe/gift shop and then what do you think I saw? Yes, a book of scats, which is apparently another name for poo. I was so disappointed. i had envisioned a publisher paying my expenses to stay in the Rockies for several months while investigating poo. Ah well, back to the drawing board.
And that reminds me of the story I was going to tell you about the cafe in Wells Grey Park. Remember I said the assistant there was the only miserable person we met? I asked her what was in butter tarts. (Okay, you may think it's a stupid question but it can't just be butter surely?) She looked at me, shrugged and said, 'Butter?' And when Daughter asked if she could have her felafel in a sandwich rather than a wrap the assistant just said, 'No.' Just like that.
But that wasn't the story I was going to tell you. This involved the toilets. You'd guessed that, hadn't you?
On the doors in the ladies' there were signs warning that the toilets had a low capacity and that a plunger could be found next to the seat in case needed. As Daughter said, 'No pressure there then.'
But if that was bad we were just glad we weren't boys. Their sign was far more explicit. It repeated the low capacity warning and went on to explain with a diagram showing the maximum acceptable length and width. I don't know what you were supposed to do if after you'd finished you realised you'd exceeded the size. Leave quickly maybe? (I did ask Son-in-law to go back in and take a photo of the sign for me but Daughter wouldn't let him.)
I can't write a post about toilets without mentioning the facilities in the national parks. I'll just say, 'Avoid them if at all possible.' Unless you're fond of smelly holes in the ground.