TOILET ATTENDANTS, the Purveyors of The Piss; the Sentinels of The Slash. In London you’ll find them an inevitable accompaniment, and often obstruction, to your natural excretions. Whether in the dizzying social heights of Chinawhite or in the authentically grim working men’s clubs of the East End, the hand-towel harpies will be there. They’ll be offering you the privilege of pissing freely whilst sucking on a Chupa Chup, with the opportunity to have your pubes backcombed afterwards. And all this for the miserly cost of some loose change. Well, all your loose change. Well what have you got? Don’t worry, I’ve got change for that Twenty…
Pay as You Piss
The intricacies of toilet tipping are enough to make you wish taking a leak in your friend’s pint was more socially acceptable. So, how to approach this delicate art? What’ll get you a handful of Haribo and a variety of sexual favours in some places will only get you spat at in others. Assess your surroundings intrepid urinators, for they are your key to success. Do you see high-class hair products and double-ply bog roll? Does the bathroom smell of gladioli and make you wonder how long you could get away with living there before somebody noticed? If so, you may want to consider digging deep into your coin sack or have the rest of your night ruined by having to endure the disapproving stare of an attendant who, despite their job amounting to little more than heckling people from a small stool in club toilets, manages to maintain a surprising degree of authority.
Discoloured Smarties
Of course, if you find yourself in a place where the walls are smeared with human DNA, where you hop from one Converse-clad foot to the other to prevent permanently sticking to the floor and the attendant offers you a stained towel and a bag of what might be discoloured Smarties, don’t bother. You probably couldn’t squeeze any coins into those skinny jeans anyway.
Toilet attendants seem to be one of those unavoidable irritants that come with living in London, like tube delays or the homeless. But why should we feel compelled to tip? Surely it’s wrong to profit from our God-given right to defecate? It’s a tax on bodily functions for Christ’s sake! Sod social decorum! Save your slash for the dance floor! [Only on UCLU Sports Nights – Ed]