Stinkmeister, voice of the pee-and-poop-plagued public, was overjoyed to learn that the city is trying to get 35 self-cleaning public toilets for its pedestrian hot spots from Penn's Landing to the Parkway.
Slapping on his gas mask, the Stinkmeister rushed down Broad Street, past the SEPTA Stairwell of Perpetual Saturation, past the Wall of Many Stains outside the Municipal Services Building to City Hall's north apron.
There, he gazed in wonder at the cool-looking, dark metallic, handicapped-accessible $250,000 latrine that Wall Inc. of Boston installed to give Philadelphians a sneak preview.
Stinkmeister inserted a quarter and the hydraulic doors parted, revealing a sight he had never seen on the streets of Philadelphia: a clean public toilet.
The shocked Stinkmeister staggered into a wonderland of wedding-dress-white walls and toilet bowl, and a stainless-steel throne, sink and trap-door floor that opens as a drain during the carwash-style cleaning cycle.
"I think I'm in love," the Stinkmeister said as he filed his report:
FLUSH: "Potent, yet not one of those power purges that trigger the flusher's primal fear of being sucked into the bowels of the earth - or, worse, SEPTA."
AMBIENCE: "The 20 minutes of throne time, before the hydraulic doors reopen and expose you to public scrutiny, are haunted by an endless loop of dreamy electro-pop that sounds vaguely like a porn-flick soundtrack. This may explain why other cities have experienced a pay-to-play sexual-liaison problem in these toilets."
SOUNDTRACK UPGRADE: "The Stinkmeister suggests a playlist focused strictly on the task at hand: 'Baby, baby, baby, you're out of time' (Rolling Stones); 'I gotta do it now . . . I gotta get out the door' (Madonna); 'I don't think you should wait; One minute might be too late' (Britney Spears)."