Last week, New York City unveiled the first of twenty futuristic new public toilets intended to give desperate citizens a choice beyond waddling to the nearest Starbucks or crouching behind the nearest trashcan. The city is relying on state-of-the-art technology to avoid the crack addicts, prostitutes, and green puddles of god-knows-what that have plagued the public toilets of New York City’s past: these toilets are self-cleaning and designed to operate safely and sanitarily without a human attendant.

But while I’m proud of the city for finally considering its citizens’ most basic needs, it looks like their quest for automation has detracted from what should have been their goal: building toilets people would actually want to use.

From the New York Times review of the facility: “When the green light marked ‘vacant’ is lit, 25 cents — coins only, no bills — starts the visit. What follows is possibly the longest and most awkward 20 to 30 seconds of a person’s day. The door slips open like an elevator, but then it stays open, to accommodate those who need extra time getting in. Meanwhile, men and women in suits walk past. It is very difficult to look inconspicuous in a bathroom on a sidewalk in New York with the door open. There is just nothing to do but stand there.”

Let’s consider the user of a New York City street toilet. A street toilet is by definition a toilet of last resort, used only by users who don’t have time to make it anywhere nicer. And as we all know, bowels in a state of panic are notorious for discharging when the eyes spot a toilet — not necessarily when the butt actually sits on it. Imagine the desperate user who digs out his quarter, opens the door, dashes inside, and then has to make eye-contact with passers-by for thirty seconds before he can even loosen his belt.

“The toilet itself {is} an imposing, metal, cold-looking receptacle in the corner … There is no seat to raise or lower, just the wide rim of the bowl, with covers made of tissue available in a dispenser to the side.”

A cold toilet seat? A squared toilet seat? A seatless toilet seat??? No one will want to sit on this thing. American butts prefer porcelain horseshoes. This unfriendly, unfamiliar, sure-to-be-uncomfortable steel apparatus will drive people to hover instead of sit — which will lead to a lot of spray-painting.

“{The black button} dispenses toilet paper. One will quickly familiarize oneself with that button, because the designers have deigned a little 16-inch strip the standard helping of paper. A word to the wise: There is a maximum of just three helpings.”

Sixteen inches = four squares. Again, consider the user. He’s only using this toilet because he’s minutes from eruption. Eruption implies diarrhea. And diarrhea implies the need for a whole lot more than twelve squares of toilet paper.

“The floor is rubber and, more strikingly, very wet … {the seat} too, is quite damp, for perfectly good reasons: when the visitor steps out, the door shuts again, but the “occupied” light stays lit. Strange hisses and spraying sounds come from within — did someone slip past? No, actually, the room is cleaning itself. A robotic arm swings out over the toilet bowl and hits it with disinfectant, while similar jets spray across the sink and the floor. Then, dryers fan hot air over everything.”

It’s great that it’s cleaned after every use. But you don’t assume a wet floor or wet seat is due to cleaning — you assume it’s due to urine, and you guard your pants cuffs and butt cheeks accordingly.

“After 90 seconds of cleaning, the green light outside comes back on.”

Let’s again consider the users of this toilet. While our first hypothetical user has been resolving his situation, imagine a second who has been outside doing the waiting dance. The door finally opens and the second user’s sphincter slackens in anticipation; but when the door slams shut, will the second user’s sphincter do the same?

I believe that public conveniences are the mark of a civilized society, which makes me feel guilty to criticize New York’s long-overdue effort to this ideal. But this toilet was not designed with users in mind. Instead, with its metal seat, its twelve-square paper limit, its thirty-second open-door policy, it was designed primarily to maximize the time between maintenance visits. Which results in a facility that actually works against the very people who need it most.

The primary goal should have been to give users a place they’d want to poop; the form of the facility should have followed this function. Based on the Times’ review, if I’m stuck short anywhere near Madison and 23rd, even if I’ve got a quarter in my pocket, I’m going to duckwalk it to the Starbucks a few blocks away.