One of my most humbling life experiences takes place, in no other, than the public restroom. Don’t worry, no icky potty talk here. My sole focus for today is the Sensor Sink Faucets. Let me paint the picture; the scene of this battle.
I go to the restroom, as many of us do, and walk out of the stalls after an uneventful experience towards the hand washing station. I glance at the mirror to make sure hair and lip gloss are just right. Then the time comes for the ritual hand wash. No one’s at the hand washing station with me (score!) so I’m cool as a cucumber.
Just as I thought I was home free to experience this moment one on one, another patron walks up beside me at the station. Who knew this could create such anxiety? You see hand washing used to be such a “non-event”, but ever since every sensor faucet in America decided to develop a personal vendetta against me, the hand washing experience has generated times of great distress.
The sink standoff begins. One, two…I pump some liquid soap on my hands and gently slide my hand under the faucet, just so. I carefully line up with the square sensor box and then I wait. Nothing. I slowly remove my hand and try again this time shifting upward a bit. Nothing.
Two more people have now joined me at the hand wash station. I try to remain calm and smile in their direction as I make my 3rd then 4th attempt to will the faucet to release fresh, clean water. Nothing. I try the faucet next to me- because clearly something must be wrong with this one. No luck. The next user steps up to that same faucet and it immediately offers her the liquid prize. What the?! I want to yell at her. It’s the same feeling you would get if you’re playing the same slot machine all night long and as soon as you walk away with your $10 in earnings the next person hits the jackpot.
I notice the pitiful smiles of the restroom patrons toward me as they move on to the automatic paper towel dispenser and go about their days. Poor little lady with gooey soap on her hands and no where to rinse it off.
Meanwhile my cool under faucet slide movements have evolved to some form of Irish Step Dance…but with hands. In out, up down, kick, slap. Nothing.
Finally, when I’m about to throw in the towel and just spit on my hands to get the gunk off of them, the faucet responds. Yes! What a thrill! But it’s short lived, as the sensor faucet decides to cut my hand wash time limit to 2.2 seconds. Just enough time to foam up but not rinse. Ugh, round 57…fight! Finally, hands are washed and I get to advance to the next level.
I danced mambo in my teens and twenties so the Paper Towel dispensers are much more responsive to my hand flicks, shoulder shakes and hip rolls. They offer up their towels and allow me to gracefully bow out…humble pie in hand.
