(Hi. I'm Amber)
By now, Portland friends, you might quite possibly be familiar with Rotture, a bar and venue in the place of the former Loveland former Meow Meow former B Complex where I had interesting times as a young one. I've only been there a few times, but have always been generally pleased with the experience - it's a nice venue (though shows upstairs are better set up than shows downstairs) spacious and pleasant, cover is usually cheap, shows frequently good, and the drinks are moderately priced and tasty.
I was at Rotture last night, downstairs, to celebrate my friend's birthday and see Yellow Swans and Shearing Pinx. It was on this fateful night that I realized the one thing I really don't like about Rotture... The bathrooms.
My displeasure was magnified by the fact that last night, somebody had stuffed all the womens' toilets to the brim with toilet paper and other things that tend to end up, and rightly so, in toilets. This is not Rotture's fault. However, there are two bathrooms, and they don't appear to be labeled, not even with the cute letters on the door that I usually miss. I can't figure out how people know which one to go in; I usually try to follow other people back and hope they know what they're doing. It leaves me feeling like there's some kind of secret bathroom identification club I wasn't invited to.
Upon entering the women's room, one immediately notices that the stall doors are set unusually high, so that when peeking under the door for legs, you pretty much see everything from the waist down. I don't know about you, but when I'm in the bathroom, that's the half I'd rather people not see. I can't imagine who came up with this design. Finally, the doors are equipped with little eyes, but no hooks; they don't lock. I can't imagine one of those little gadgets costing more than a dollar, and they're well worth that for the sense of privacy and security a locking bathroom door provides. I'll admit, I haven't seen the men's room - perhaps one of you can inform me - but I haven't got the highest hopes.
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By now, Portland friends, you might quite possibly be familiar with Rotture, a bar and venue in the place of the former Loveland former Meow Meow former B Complex where I had interesting times as a young one. I've only been there a few times, but have always been generally pleased with the experience - it's a nice venue (though shows upstairs are better set up than shows downstairs) spacious and pleasant, cover is usually cheap, shows frequently good, and the drinks are moderately priced and tasty.
I was at Rotture last night, downstairs, to celebrate my friend's birthday and see Yellow Swans and Shearing Pinx. It was on this fateful night that I realized the one thing I really don't like about Rotture... The bathrooms.
My displeasure was magnified by the fact that last night, somebody had stuffed all the womens' toilets to the brim with toilet paper and other things that tend to end up, and rightly so, in toilets. This is not Rotture's fault. However, there are two bathrooms, and they don't appear to be labeled, not even with the cute letters on the door that I usually miss. I can't figure out how people know which one to go in; I usually try to follow other people back and hope they know what they're doing. It leaves me feeling like there's some kind of secret bathroom identification club I wasn't invited to.
Upon entering the women's room, one immediately notices that the stall doors are set unusually high, so that when peeking under the door for legs, you pretty much see everything from the waist down. I don't know about you, but when I'm in the bathroom, that's the half I'd rather people not see. I can't imagine who came up with this design. Finally, the doors are equipped with little eyes, but no hooks; they don't lock. I can't imagine one of those little gadgets costing more than a dollar, and they're well worth that for the sense of privacy and security a locking bathroom door provides. I'll admit, I haven't seen the men's room - perhaps one of you can inform me - but I haven't got the highest hopes.
