Photo by Alan Zilberman.
By DCist Contributor Alan Zilberman
Pharmacy Bar was one my favorite bars in D.C. Located on 18th Street in Adams Morgan, it was one of the few places that wouldn’t fill with drunk assholes on a weekend. Even on a Saturday night, you could count on being able to sit down and, you know, have an actual conversation (while listening to tunes from the city’s best jukebox, no less). Now Pharmacy bar is no more, but its memory will live in our hearts. I will always think of Pharmacy fondly, but not because of its bathroom.
-2 for inadequate supply: Pharmacy Bar had exactly one toilet. That is not to say that there is one for men and one for women. Just one. Normally this would be cause for a significant negative score, but Pharmacy was never so crowded that I felt like I had to wait in line forever (there was also an odd sense of camaraderie whenever I found myself in line with my fellow dive bar compatriots). Granted, on the Pharmacy’s last official day there was already a line to get into the bar, let alone the facilities, but that’s the exception.
+3 for a strong lock: Last week I was in a coffee shop/bar in El Paso, Texas, and the bathroom lock left much to be desired. At one point there clearly was a sliding lock above the doorknob, but it had been removed and unpainted splinters were all that was left. This was not the case with Pharmacy. There was security whenever you entered the bathroom, as if it was a temporary sanctuary from the jukebox and yet another debate about Game of Thrones, and a functioning lock inspired a sense of confidence. This is crucial for those of us who are gun shy about their bodily functions (I’m not).
-5 for an insane hot water faucet: Even in a dive bar like Pharmacy, there’s a certain expectation that we can sanitize comfortably. The water should flow steadily and at a reasonable temperature, creating ample opportunity to wash up before we return to boozing. The problem with Pharmacy’s bathroom is that its hot water faucet was fucking scalding. I’m not kidding: if you turned on the hot and left it flowing for a moment, then steam would start to rise from the sink. I don’t want to burn my hand for the sake of cleanliness. The faucet should run warm to mildly hot, always and forever.
+2 for reliable hand-drying options: It would be incongruous, perhaps even a little disturbing, to see a Dyson Air Blade in Pharmacy’s bathroom. Instead, there was a manually-operated paper-towel dispenser. This is exactly what a bar like Pharmacy should offer: an automatic paper towel dispenser is literally the worst thing to happen to bathrooms in a generation. Nothing makes me feel like an idiot as fast as an automatic dispenser that fails to acknowledge my existence.
-1 for vertically-oriented toilet paper: There is a reason the vast majority of toilet paper is parallel to the floor: with a simple hand gesture, it’s easy to roll out multiple squares. When toilet paper is arranged vertically, preparing for a wipe is all the more cumbersome. However, vertically-oriented toilet paper is preferable than no hold whatsoever; I don’t want to take the roll into my hand and dole out some squares like a damn savage.
+1 for above-average hand soap: On its final day before the ownership change, there was a fancy bottle of hand soap in Pharmacy’s bathroom. It still had the label—no in-house dispenser here—which gave the cumulative impression that the bar is neighborhood hang. Sure, the soap stand outs in an otherwise dingy bathroom, but it’s all in the name of hygiene.
Overall score: -2. Pharmacy Bar was one of the last true dive bars in Adams Morgan, one that felt like a genuine neighborhood spot, and no true dive should ever have a positive bathroom score. Pharmacy is dead. Long live Pharmacy.
