Perhaps it looked good on paper?

Everytime I battle my way into one of the ladies restrooms in the Southwest terminal of the San Jose airport, I expect to encounter a group of architecture students marvelling over the utter idiocy of the bathrooms' design.

The doorless entrances are twisting, narrow corridors that force luggage-toting women entering the room into a collision course with luggage-toting women who have washed their hands and trying to find the paper towel dispensers. The two towel dispensers are positioned at the ends of the single, long sink counter, guaranteeing that anyone using one of the six sinks and needing a towel must back away from the sink, hands dripping, leave their luggage blocking access to the sink, then trip over the luggage of every other woman at the sink counter before colliding with the incoming stream of travelers entering next to the towels. Dripping, leaping and exhausted, they look like Pacific salmon heading upstream.

The toilet stalls are obviously the work of the same designer. They can accommodate a toilet, you, and your luggage—but whoever designed them did not take into account the fact that the user would need to open the door to get herself and her luggage in and out of the stall. (Perhaps they though she'd heave the bag over the top, or push the bag in and vault over it?) I leave my luggage outside the door. it's large, and my reasoning is that anyone trying to make off with it would get trapped in the bottleneck at the towel dispensers long enough for me to flush, get out, and reclaim my bag.

The looks on the faces of women as they enter those restrooms range from grim determination (frequent fliers, they've been there before) to horror and panic--that usually from women who need to get into the stalls with both luggage and squirming kids.

Since these restrooms lack doors, the exterior signage for "Men" and "Women" is high overhead, and not always easy spot. At least that's my explanation for what I witnessed a few weeks ago. I was sitting in a Southwest waiting area, facing the women's restroom, and noticed a preoccupied male business traveler clearly looking for the facilities. He turned one entryway too soon and was immediately greeted by the shrieks of a herd of female towel-seekers he'd apparently bowled over. Red-faced, he dashed back out and hurried down the concourse. Perhaps he headed to the next terminal where, one hopes, they have normal restrooms.

Desperado

Right wingers in Las Vegas were molting sequins over Linda Ronstadt dedicating her rendition of "Desperado" to left wing muckraker Michael Moore. You have to wonder what on earth had inspired Ronstadt, who had converted the Eagles' outlaw ballad in to a sort of love song in 1973, to associate the song with Moore--unquestionably one of the least romantic-looking heroes around.