It’s been awhile (kinda) so it’s time for another installment of C.R.A.P. This time, we’re boldly going to a place The Kids… shit has not gone before.
New to C.R.A.P.? It’s quite simple, really. This little on-going feature is all about where to squat when you’re in a jam and gotta drop some butt-Spam. Some Philadelphia places to go when your ass has got a question and you need to give it an Answer. When you’re suddenly McNabbed with the need to run a poot-leg play. You get it.
I rank these places on an easy-to-use scale based on Cleanliness, Remoteness, Access and Privacy–all the essential ingredients for public poos.
Let’s do this.
Need to make a ‘deposit’ downtown?
Got a little extra ‘dough’ you want to dump?
With these hard economic times that we’re in, it’s only fitt-ING that our first review is for the ING Cafe’ in downtown Philly on the corner of 17th and Walnut. The ING Cafe’ stands out because it looks like someone’s combined an Orange Julius with a Sharper Image store. It’s futuristic insides is like being in the leisure deck on The Enterprise–there’s an expansive, ‘futuristic’ feel to the place that no other place in the city really captures. Plus, when I was there, I was waited on a black girl that I decided to call “Guinan”. There’s pods for checking email and wireless access (more on that) too while you sip, save and shit.
So how’s the market look for crapping?
Let’s take a look.
Cleanliness: ING’s bathrooms are crispy-clean. I mean honestly, a place where you can eat blueberry muffins, drink coffee and look at your financial state is bound to make people shit their pants a lot, right? Not so here. When I walked in, I was amazed–floored even–by the cleanliness of the men’s room. I was convinced that only robots shat in this place. It was spotless. I really can’t stress how amazed I was. It was so clean in there, I considered dropping a load in my pants instead. +8
Remoteness: ING’s bathrooms are located at the back of the Cafe’. They are unassuming and sterile-looking whose frosty-colored, opaque doors could easily be mistaken for ‘droid storage units. What’s also great is that most people are so busy surfing Craigslist’s “Casual Encounters of the Trannie Kind ” they won’t notice or care that you’re slipping by to photon-torpedo the john. +8
Access: Well, true to Philadelphia’s own political system here, ING is sort of a “pay-to-play” gig. For example, if you’re going to use the wireless there, you have to purchase something at the cafe’ where they’ll give you a card that has an access code on it. This card’s good for about a 30min access to the internet, meaning that you’ve got to buy more stuff there to be on the internet longer. Sounds odd for a place that stresses savings, huh? Yeah, I think so too.
So, based on an “honor system” of sorts, you’re going to feel rather obligated (if you’re not an ING member, that is) to get something there, since their synthetic employees have mastered the art of “passive aggressive inquiry” about possible lay-abouts and doo-dooers there. If you’re bold of course (say your Perineum Falcon’s in danger of leaving an “ion trail” in your pants), you can just make a warp-speed beeline to the bathrooms, but for the rest of us, I’d suggest buying something.
In addition to that, because of it’s rather “austere” appearances, the ING Cafe’ subconsciously discourages vagrants from coming in there. There’s nowhere to hide in a place so brightly-lit and sparsely-deocrated place. While liberally in most things, I’m decidedly conservative to public poo-ing, meaning that unlike your local Barnes & Noble, you can get your stinkon without sharing a bathroom with a Klingon. Star-skeet Academy approved. +6
Privacy: They say in space, no one can hear you scream. I daresay that that’s the case for the ING’s space station C.R.A.P. utopia. It could be the large stalls (big enough for a Wookie dookie) and their hard-to-see through stall linings. It could be the cold, stark space itself which seems airy and sound-swallowing at the same time. I don’t know what it was, but I’ve been there twice, and each time I’ve felt comfortable to set my ass-phaser to “LOUD”. Impressively, I felt as though the sound was muffled by the frosted toilet stall: I was giddy. I’ve even tried the yelling following while on the toilet:
- “One to beam!”
- “The Force is strong with this one”.
- “Doo or doo not; there is no try”
So if you’re in for a (butt)blaster-battle, you’re at the right place, Ensign. +8
Total C.R.A.P. Score: 30
Shit long, and prosper.