Review: trough at the Toad

It pains me to say anything negative about the Toad in the Hole.  I've been a fan of the pub for years. Even through the extensive changes it has undergone, the renovation of the basement (I miss the dank pit that it was), the expansion of the upstairs, the new arcades and giant flat screen TV (Ok, I admit I love the TV), and even with sudden surge of overdressed suburbanite douchebags that descend upon the village every Friday and Saturday night and pack into the cherished Osborne Village jewel because they can't get into the Hifi nightclub, I have stood by my watering hole. But suddenly, things have gone too far.

Last night, after some standard bantering over 3-4 pints, my bladder was at the tipping point. Breaking the seal was an inevitable reality, so I climbed from my slouch and made my way to the lesser known washrooms by the kitchens. The Toad has long had an unwritten policy where washrooms may be labeled as separate for men and women, but in reality they are unisex (--shouldn't that mean just one of the sexes? I never understood that). Men and women use each other's commodes freely. But on this particular evening, there was a sign on the door. In bold, underlined lettering, the sign read WOMEN'S WASHROOM ONLY. I was a bit shocked, but not overly surprised until I notice the same sign on what used to be the men's washroom next to it. Both women's washrooms? WTF?

Suddenly I became aware of suspicious eyes upon me. I looked over to where a young woman was clearly eyeing me up to see if I was a sexual predator, or just a pervert trying to get a peak at the newly-christened women's washroom cabal. 

"You can't pee here" she says to me sharply.

"Uhh, I can't?" tipsy and desperate to pee, my mind still hadn't caught up to the situation.

"You have to use the men's washroom--at the back of the bar."

"What?"

"The men's washroom is there now. You can't pee here anymore."

"How did women suddenly get a monopoly on these washrooms?" I asked.

"We have smaller bladders" she snapped back.

"But we drink more!" I protested.

"No you don't." Not wanting to get into a pissing contest (zing!), and concerned more with relieving myself, I figured I was better off going to see what the hell she was talking about.

I made my way over to where the other bathrooms were. Following a sign directing right to the back of the pub, I discovered a new men's washroom. What I found on the other side of the door deeply troubled me.

A fucking trough!! A goddamn, demeaning-as-fuck trough to pee in! Are these things not fucking outlawed yet?! Can we not find a more humane way to allow men to pee at a pub? I mean, it's not like Bomber stadium, where 30,000 fucking people have to share the washrooms, and even there it's fucking disgusting.

As if the trough itself wasn't bad enough, the discrepancy between the now women-exclusive, single stall washrooms and the male equivalent of a back alley is seriously demeaning. I may be a sloppy drunken pig on most saturday nights, but give me some fucking credit. And having to be told to pee in a trough by some small-bladdered psuedo-feminist only made the experience that much more detestable.

I've heard a rumour that the new facilities are temporary while they renovate their other washrooms. I certainly hope that's the case. While the Toad still sits at the top of my list of places to drink away my youth, this new development has left a sour taste in my mouth. It may take a standoff a la Rosa Parks to change the minds of the oppressors. We won't be demeaned like this! We want to pee at the front of the bus, er, bar like everyone else. We refuse to be treated as second-class citizens. 

Ugh. I hope I don't have to start going to the Academy.

Rating: 2 out of 10--for the small bladder argument.