The public toilet from hell. Sanisette JC Decaux in Paris

The cleanliness of toilets is one of the major points of friction in the customer experience, for tourists, in stations and restaurants. Hortense J, a student and intern at En-Contact, recounts her adventures and her encounter with JC Decaux. 

In the comings and goings of Parisian women, whether they are tourists or simply students, there comes a day when they feel the urge, the need, to use one of Paris' many public toilets. On 25 May, I too had the idea of going into one of these public toilets. I won't say that the experience was memorable. Well, yes, but not for the relief it was supposed to provide.
It was actually... a very bad idea. The JC Decaux company offers Parisians free access to public toilets located throughout Paris. Free! With nothing else being free in Madame Hidalgo's kingdom, this type of opportunity (relieving oneself in toilets, which are small grey houses accessible to all, including people with reduced mobility) should be appreciated... for what it's worth. However, this opportunity is only available until 10 p.m. Do tourists and walkers no longer need to pee at night?

Preamble: So, on this Friday in May, near Alma-Marceau, I TRIED to use a SANISETTE for the first time.
Step 1: I wait for the man in front of me to finish his business. I walk straight through the door, which closes automatically behind me. The door has a button-operated opening/closing system, so everything seems normal, even though I also notice an emergency opening system (a handle on the door). Emergency? It must be used to open the door when the button control isn't working, I thought to myself.
Step 2: The mechanical sequence of events – over which I admit I then had no control – that followed my last peaceful thought that morning proved fatal. I remember waiting for the door to close and lock. I remember hearing an audio message (in French, of all things, and how are foreigners warned?) telling me that the door was closed. Then the little voice told me to leave the cubicle to allow the automatic cleaning service to ‘sanitise’ the toilet (which, unfortunately, was not at all clean).

I didn't react when the toilet began its automatic flush, just like the sink. I should have. Because this logical operation normally takes place after the previous occupant has left and before the new occupant arrives. Is it worth telling you what powerful jets of water, coming from the bowels of the cubicle, in a city where water is not yet rationed, can do to a pair of leggings and trainers?

What do three jets produce? Punished, I was punished. 
I then tried to take refuge on the sides of the cabin. And discovered that if I still had the courage and the clear desire to reach the emergency handle, I would, in any case, have to face the jets of water gushing out in front of the entrance door we wanted to go through. Who designed this hell, I must have thought? After this first attempt, and not being ready to give up so quickly on my career as a fact-checker of user and customer experience, I persisted. As I was finally getting ready to do what I had come in for (pee, quietly), I realised too late my umpteenth blunder... I saw the door of the public toilet open to reveal... my trousers down around my ankles. At Alma Marceau, on 25 May, I took to my heels. The Zouave blushed.

NB: After rereading this investigative report and completing a fortnight's internship in a crazy newsroom, I can confirm that journalism is a demanding profession. (This article was written by one of the editorial interns, who discovered the appeal and difficulty of field journalism). The hotline set up by JCr Decaux on 01 30 79 79 79 must not be removed, and every Paris travel guide should mention this number in red!
Hortense Jacquinet (who wrote the only article of her professional life to date about her adventures in Parisian public toilets).