Photo by Alan Zilberman.
By DCist contributor Alan Zilberman
Tune Inn is a god damn national treasure. Located on Pennsylvania Avenue in the heart of Capitol Hill, this old school dive is the sort of establishment that attracts the right people: Hill staffers, journalists, drunks, regulars and assholes like me. Rule of thumb: if you see people in a bar that you literally cannot imagine seeing any place else, then a bar is a true drive (#truedrive). Tune Inn serves breakfast all day — no brunch menu, you assholes — and it’s one of the only places in the city where you can get a decent burger for under ten dollars. While I cherish Tune Inn like I would cherish a child, its bathroom is gross, which adds to the charm, sorta.
-4 for a non-functioning lock: There is exactly one men’s toilet at Tune Inn — it’s a small spot, so no problem there — but it’s haphazardly constructed. The door between the sink and the rest of the bar does not lock. Sure, the bolt slides and everything, but there’s wear and tear where the lock should be. This means there is only actual privacy when you enter the bathroom’s only stall, which is not nearly enough. It’s like having half of one whole bathroom.
+2 for a welcoming sign: The men’s room says “GENTLEMEN,” which is borderline ironic since Tune Inn is a dive. Story time: I visited Tune Inn in fall of 2012, and the bartender had to call the paramedics because some idiot passed out in the bathroom (this was in the middle of the afternoon, by the way). I guess he was dehydrated after a charity walk during the day or whatever, but that’s hardly an excuse. Either way, this is the sort of place where men’s room patrons are called “gentlemen” in the most charitable sense.
-1 for cleanliness: Look: no one expects a dive bar bathroom to look like day spa. I get that. But the men’s room at Tune Inn is the sort place where you walk in, hold it, then walk right back out. There was a puddle around the men’s toilet (I have no idea what it’s a puddle of). I’ll take pity on you, dear reader, and not describe what was in the toilet when I got there. Oh, and the man who used the bathroom before me did not wash his hands. This is all part of a highly subjective experience, I realize this, which is why I give the score of negative one, not negative infinity.
+1 for striking stall graffiti: Any fool with a sharpie can draw a giant cock or whatever. It takes dedication from a true artist to scrawl something in big letters on the stall door. I cannot quite make it out beyond “OLD CREW,” yet the effort involved is self-apparent. Kudos to you, bathroom artist, for giving men something to ponder whenever they’re taking a shit.
+2 for hand-drying options: In a place like Tune Inn, paper towels are always preferable over anything automatic. Instead of an hand sensor on its paper towel dispenser, there is the sort of self-propelling mechanism that makes it easy to pull down several towels with simple motions. This is exactly what I require from a true dive.
Overall score: ZERO. For a place like Tune Inn, this is perfect score. In the sort of spot where your regulars include a woman with the shakes and a dude wearing short shorts along with a Jameson t-shirt, you do not want a good bathroom, or a terribly awful one. Anything nicer, and it’d be too popular. Anything nastier, and you’d lose your regulars. Kudos, Tune Inn, for getting it exactly right, Goldilocks-style. John Mellencamp should write a song about you.
