News that Balthazar owner Keith McNally has relieved bathroom attendants of their duties at the great Soho brasserie means one very good thing: People will return to their tables with cleaner hands.
That will surprise only the maybe three New Yorkers out of 8 million who actually like having a toilet eunuch hand you towels and grovel for a tip.
I’d rather face a squeegee man than a potty porter. I flee a restaurant john without soaping my contaminated fingers rather than have my hands held by a creepy stranger who makes me feel like I’m the one begging.
Health Dept. rules that employees must “wash hands before returning to work” don’t apply to customers. Eateries are filled with grungy-fingered diners who couldn’t stomach waiting their turn to be handed paper towels, having their noses wiped – and paying for the privilege.
Those few who insist on clean hands face the dilemma: How much to tip? What if you don’t have a $1 bill, but only 20s? Am I a cheapskate to walk out without paying?
Older toilet attendants ones tend to be as embarrassingly servile as an earlier era’s Pullman train porters. Younger ones spot you a wicked sneer if you don’t tip.
I hate them at the Waldorf-Astoria. I hate them at Bluewater Grill on Union Square.
The “storied” fellow at ‘21’ who passed away last week, rest his soul, was celebrated as a legend. But his off-color jokes weren’t my cup of tea while relieving myself, an act deserving respectful silence.
Nor did I appreciate the so-cool guy at Dos Caminos at Park Avenue South who escorted me into the toilet, sprayed it with aerosol and lifted the lid for me like a hospital orderly.
Some owners whisper that the porters are there for “security” to deter drug use. But half of them look, sound and act like hustlers from the bad old days of West 42nd Street.
McNally pulled the toilet flunkies at Balthazar once before, only to reinstate them. This time he’s generously giving them other jobs. But I hope he’s flushed them out of potty patrol for good.