I was reading through the comments in the visitors’ books at the Ashcroft tourist information centre a little while back, to see what people had to say, and was very pleasantly surprised to note that the comments were overwhelmingly positive.
“Why would you be surprised?” I hear someone ask. I suppose it’s because I have become so accustomed to social media, which is increasingly the place where “overwhelmingly positive” goes not only to die, but to be buried and then have the grave desecrated. There’s something about a keyboard and (relative) anonymity that bring out the worst in many people, and they become nattering nabobs of negativism, in the words of former US vice president Spiro Agnew.
Give people a pen and a nicely-bound book, however, and it’s a very different story. Perhaps it’s because writing something longhand takes more effort than typing, or because the kindly volunteer who just spent 10 minutes answering your questions and providing maps and information is right there with you, but the tenor of these written comments was quite different from what you might see online.
Another thing I noted was how often the washrooms in the nearby Heritage Park were mentioned, with the sort of glowing encomiums usually associated with luxury resorts and Michelin-starred restaurants. The word “clean”, for example, came up with a frequency normally only seen in ads for disinfectants. Bright, well-stocked, and easily accessible were also mentioned, as was (if I recall) “cheerful,” which is probably not a word most people would think of in respect of washrooms.
I would have said this was all a surprise as well, except for the fact that I’ve done my share of long distance travelling by car in my day, and therefore know that when you’re a long way from home, a clean, bright, well-stocked, accessible, and (yes) cheerful public washroom is worth its weight in gold. Anyone who regularly travels the same long-distance route by car is probably nodding their head in vehement agreement.
Furthermore, these people almost certainly know the merits, or lack of same, of every public washroom along the route, keeping a mental list that has “Heck, yes!” at the top end of the scale, a cluster of “If we have to” options in the middle, and a few “Only if it’s an emergency and there are no bushes nearby” at the bottom. This mental list also contains other crucial information, such as distance (in travel time, not miles) to the next good one, which ones close in winter, and which ones are located inside businesses where children are likely to add a demand for ice cream, chips, pop, or other treats to their need (right now!) for a washroom.
I don’t think my parents ever said it in so many words, but during my youthful travels they impressed on my brother and me the importance of using a clean washroom even if we didn’t actually feel a pressing need at that moment in time, on the grounds that we either didn’t know where the next one would be, or it was a long way off. It’s a life lesson that has stayed with me to this day: not quite on a par with “Don’t play with matches” or “Don’t stick anything metal in a light socket,” but valuable nonetheless.
Here, if I may, I will make an appeal to the drivers on these long trips. I don’t know why, but somehow the act of getting behind the wheel seems to make people impervious to the demands of nature by giving them cast-iron bladders. For the love of whatever you hold dear, drivers, please remember that this superhuman ability does not extend to everyone else in the car, and you ignore the increasingly desperate cries at your peril.
Finally, if you have the opportunity to leave kind words about public washrooms that go above and beyond, please let others know. You will be doing your fellow travellers a huge service, and they will be eternally grateful.
