As chosen by you, here are the most popular stories OF ALL TIME (aka last week). Just in case you missed it.

He’s baack! Hope you’re hungry because we’ve got another searing scribble from DLT’s proudly-persnickety contributor, Eric Eats Out. Check back the first Wednesday of every month as Mr. Eats Out chews up life’s greatest mysteries, including the economic value of bathroom attendants. Warning! Slightly risque words after the jump.

The scene: Mastro’s Steakhouse in north Scottsdale, a swanky cathedral of beef, martinis, and excess. The bar was crawling with cougars and over-the-hill fat guys laden with gold chains. In the dining room, it was a quiet Sunday night and my wife and I were celebrating her birthday. After two cocktails and five glasses of iced tea, my bladder felt like Tempe Town Lake on the verge of rupturing. I really had to go. It was urgent.

I would have relieved myself sooner but one thing was stopping me: The Bathroom Attendant.

I have yet to come across anyone who finds this service to be helpful. If anything, the bathroom attendant is an awkward anachronism providing a service that no one really needs or wants. I did an informal survey of friends and family and the general consensus is this: there mere presence of a bathroom attendant makes people feel uncomfortable and pressured to tip for a service they can easily do themselves. It’s not like he’s dabbing the end of my penis with a silk cloth to eliminate the need for the post-piss-shake.

Here’s my problem: I feel sorry for the guy. Who really wants to work in a bathroom all night? Let’s face it: mauling a porterhouse steak, creamed spinach and a few martinis doesn’t do anything good for your digestive system and the bathroom stall sometimes suffers the brunt of the punishment when your body revolts. Factor-in people who purge from drinking too much, snort coke in the bathroom stall and the occasional couple that feels compelled to conceive a child in such a romantic setting and you’ve got a hostile work environment.

Furthermore, the notion of a bathroom attendant perpetuates stereotypes that should have disappeared a long time ago. Regardless of your stance on immigration, race and politics it’s hard to deny that, in Arizona, many of the lesser-paid service workers are Hispanic. Yet, in my experience, almost every bathroom attendant I’ve come across is African American. Candidly, I wouldn’t feel any better about it if he was Hispanic, Caucasian or otherwise but the fact that he’s almost always black makes me feel awful and embarrassed.

But there is always a flip side.

Google “bathroom attendant” and you’ll find a story about Leroy Porter, an entrepreneur who monopolized the New York City bathroom attendant market and, allegedly, grossed over $500,000 in one year before being investigated for skimming tips from his workers. Some bathroom attendants consider the commode as their “turf” — step inside and you’re in their house and should play by their rules. Take a leak and tip a dollar; drop a deuce and it should be at least three bucks.

Based on my research, bathroom attendants rarely share in the tip pool and sometimes they even pay the restaurant for the privilege of being there, hoping to offset the “rent” with tips on services and merchandise – like cologne, mints and cigarettes – that they provide at their own expense. Apparently, the commode is the last refuge of free enterprise. In some ways, I actually admire the guy. You think he stays up at night worrying about work-related stress like I do?

Tweet