Listen. I’m not a toilet expert by any means. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about plumbing or water treatment. What I am, however, is a toilet critic. According to the documentary The Toilet - An Unspoken History, it’s estimated that we spend three years of our lives on the ol’ ivory throne, making it one of the most important things we sit on. It’s a necessity, like food. And we have food critics, so why not toilet ones?
So when approaching how to write about Twin Cities toilets for this story, I imagined a couple of scenarios: What if I was a real estate agent and I had to convince customers to buy a restroom, like a commode-focused Kris Lindahl? Or perhaps I should be more of a city guide, spotlighting unique pockets of bathroom culture and history, like One-Minute Tours’ John O’Sullivan?
In the end, I went local, paying homage to City Pages’ classic Best Of list. I combed the city in search of restrooms with stories, character flaws, odd features, and working plumbing. Most importantly, I looked at how amenable each restroom was to its actual function. I developed a very sophisticated 5-dump rating system, the algorithm of which is too complex to explain—you’ll get it as you read along.
Alright! On to the toilets.
Most Positive, Life-Affirming Graffiti
LITT Pinball Bar, 2021 Hennepin Ave. S., Minneapolis
LITT looks like a dive-bar bathroom, but upon closer inspection, it has none of the disgusting elements of an actual dive bar bathroom. (Except its all-black toilets! Dear god, why do these exist at all!? You can’t see what’s on the lid, so you have to blindly wipe it down with toilet paper hoping for a streak-free underside.) While the bar is a complete reimagining of the space that used to house longtime 2-4-1 neighborhood haunt Liquor Lyle’s, the trappings of the old bathroom remain: the eponymous sign, the original faux-wood paneling. But what’s truly great is the graffiti. Some of the most inspiring personal developments and positive affirmations exist on these walls. I was especially moved by “I love your balls!” and “Love yourself! You’re too cute not to” notes. It felt like a continuation of the politically radical graffiti in Mortimer’s (“Tax evasion is my kink” and “Start Hormone Replacement Therapy!”) LITT may be the only bathroom where feeling “seen” is a good thing.
Rating: 3 out of 5 dumps (two dumps deducted for the black toilets. If there was a snake in there, I’d never know! How am I supposed to relax?)
Most Difficult to Process When You’re Drunk
Varsity Theater, 1308 SE Fourth St., Minneapolis
According to a bona fide Reddit commenter with over 45,000 karma points, this bathroom is tough to figure out when you’re deep in the cups. The details overwhelm the senses, and there’s not always enough time to take in the magic. Imagine navigating a veritable jungle labyrinth with a full bladder and a compromised brain. The Varsity bathroom has made many a top toilet list over the decades, and for good reason: It’s ornately themed in the style of an enchanted forest, the kind that you’d expect to find at a Disney resort. So it has absolutely no business being at a music venue in Dinkytown.
Rating: With private stalls and fully closing wooden doors, I give this a solid 5 out of 5 dumps—if you’re sober.
Most Mysterious
4th Floor of the Aveda Arts & Sciences Institute, 400 Central Ave. SE, Minneapolis
This bathroom was suggested to me by someone who had never seen it before. She was friends with an esthetician student who raved about it, which all seemed incredibly intriguing. So I went up to their front desk and said, “I’ve heard there’s a unique bathroom on the fourth floor. Would you mind giving me a tour?” The receptionist eyed me suspiciously, then asked a second receptionist to take over. He said, “Oh, yeah! It’s super unique.” I asked what it made it unique, and he was like, “You’ll just have to see for yourself,” at which point a third receptionist swung by and said, “We can’t just let you in.” He told me to email management first. I did. They emailed back: “There is no bathroom on the fourth floor.” I said, “Your employees seemed to know about it.” They replied, “OK, there is a bathroom. But it’s not mysterious.” And I said, “What makes it unique?” to which they replied, “There’s no bathroom by that description on the fourth floor.” I have an avoidant attachment style, so a bathroom that plays hard to get (to) really speaks to me.
Rating: 5 out of 5 dumps
Most Bunker
Q.arma Building, 1224 Quincy St. NE, Minneapolis
This Quincy Street artists studio bathroom is hard to find without a blueprint, which makes it most suited for a No. 2 or a No. 3. Or even a No. 4. In fact, its discreet location would be perfect for a National Security Council Situation Room. Here’s how you find it: Take the stairs down to a small lobby in the basement, head to the back of the lobby, turn a right corner, and then make a left around another corner until you get to a small enclave that leads to a hallway. Go up the small stairway to a ramp, and there you are. This soundproof bathroom has it all: 15-inch-thick concrete walls reinforced by a layer of bricks and glass block windows, and a shower (for after you do a No. 12).
Rating: 5 out of 5 dumps
Most Haunted
First Avenue, 701 N. First Ave., Minneapolis
According to local lore, back when First Ave was a Greyhound bus station, a woman came there to reunite with her lover who was returning from WWII. After finding out he died in combat, she went to the bathroom and promptly hanged herself in the fifth stall. In the years since, people have reported seeing and hearing a blond woman in an army jacket crying in the stalls. Some of these people weren’t even drunk or on coke.
Rating: 1 out of 5 dumps—not just for lack of privacy but for the disembodied wailing. I’ve already got a shy bladder, I don’t need a shy colon.
Most “It Puts the Lotion in the Basket or It Gets the Hose” Bathroom
Caffetto Coffee House, 708 W. 22nd St., Minneapolis
Part broom closet, part Buffalo Bill toilet dungeon, this place is the most terrifying bathroom in Minneapolis and—I hope—the world. You’re gonna want to order the coffee and pastries to go (they’re excellent and reasonably priced). Unfortunately, I stayed and drank coffee against my better judgment, at which point I was forced to ask for the bathroom code. I opened the door to a black, windowless room that seemed to be waiting for its next victim. All I could see was a bare bulb on a wire spotlighting a menacing toilet, as if to say, “You just ingested a bran muffin and a double espresso and it took the barista three attempts to give you the correct code. Welp! Beggars can’t be choosers!” In the end, I was fine. I put on my night-vision goggles so I wasn’t blindly groping the walls, and the experience only cost me two therapy sessions. I’m no longer afraid of being turned into a lampshade when I enter an unfamiliar bathroom in someone’s basement.
Rating: 2 out of 5 dumps (two dumps given for the toilet being fully operational)
Most HBO’s White Lotus Restroom
Hai Hai, 2121 University Ave. NE, Minneapolis
The wallpaper in the bathroom corridor at Hai Hai has a major “White Lotus title sequence” vibe to it (which won an Emmy for its entrancing, hypnotic drums and paradisiacal symbols of enlightenment and nirvana). Inside, the cerulean blue and turquoise hues, tropical ferns, and slatted stall doors feels like something you’d see at a yoga retreat, which will immediately put your bowels at ease. I initially rated it four out of five dumps for being right next to the kitchen (too busy!), but the barrage of noises conveniently covers up any bathroom noises, so I added it back.
Rating: 5 out of 5 dumps
Most Art Deco-y
Stanley’s Northeast Bar Room, 2500 University Ave. NE, Minneapolis
Who knew a bathroom appliance could be so uncommonly statuesque and beautiful? When I heard the urinals here were over 100 years old I thought, “Damn, that’s a lot of pee.” Standing at four and a half feet tall with plummeting Art Deco curves, these historic apparatuses were original to the West Hotel on Fifth and Hennepin, which was built in 1884 and demolished in 1940. The hotel boasted 407 guest rooms and only 147 bathrooms—nowhere near enough! It was also the home of the 1892 Republican National Convention. Given the fact that the bathrooms were few and far between, it's highly likely that Mark Twain and Winston Churchill, two notable guests at that convention, whipped it out in front of these exact urinals. A truly historical thing to contemplate.
Rating: 0 out of 5 dumps, because they’re urinals!
Honorable Mention: Loring Lake (see picture of a man peeing into the lake)
Honorable Mention, Part 2: St. Anthony Main Pavilion for “Best Organized.”
It’s set up in such a way that they solve the gendered bathroom “problem” (if you can call it that). There’s one short common space for sinks and hand dryers and each toilet stall is its own, closed-off room. Thus ending the great bathroom debate.
