Into the bowels of Steve Ballmer's Intuit Dome Toiletopia

“Waiting in line for something mundane is very boring.” —Andre Leon Talley

“Where did you get these clothes? In the… toilet… in the store?” —Brick Tamland

I'm sitting in the Intuit Dome, but I'm not in my seat. I'm in the latrine. The Weeknd plays. He feels it coming. I do that too. The toilet below me is sturdy and well-built, and all the toilet paper dispensers are made by a company called Tork, a strange word to stare at while dropping bombs. It kind of encourages you, makes you push yourself and give it your all.

Will Rogers once said, “The older we get, the fewer things seem worth waiting in line for.” Clippers owner Steve Ballmer agrees. He pounds his chest, sweat on his chest, and he agrees.

“The thing I hate most in life,” Ballmer once said, “is arenas where you have to wait in line for the bathroom.” I'm really obsessed with bathrooms. Toilets, toilets, toilets.”

So step aside, Cancer. Step aside, boiling oceans. Step aside, dementia and Alzheimer's and mosquito bites and genocide and fascism and bartenders who keep their heads down. Toilets are the star of this funeral show. Ballmer hasn't kept his mouth shut about the toilets since he first complained about his new arena in 2021. Ballmer screams: “Three times the NBA average.” Ballmer, too 60 minutes: “Can I show you the restrooms?” He even commissioned the development of a computer modeling program to simulate restroom and concession stand visits during sales to ensure fans had time to conduct their business during a normal NBA timeout .

When the richest owner in the league and one of the ten richest men in the world builds a $2 billion basketball Lock and screams more about the toilets than anything else, pay attention to the porcelain thrones. He demanded it. They are his fixation, his love, his everything, and the Intuit Dome is specifically designed to reflect his desires. Now I crouch before you to tell you what I saw.

There are just so many toilets, a whole lot of shithouses. The place is littered with them. They walk through the main hall and every 10 seconds they appear. In one extreme case, I saw a men's room, then a women's room, then the entrance to Section 22, and then another men's room. From door to door, from man to man, there were 12 steps. I ran it. And I wasn't trying to be a hero. If I had really stretched the walk and done Gumby with it, I might have made it in eight.

With all due respect, as a guy with a similar body type, you get the feeling that Ballmer might have soiled his chinos at some point while waiting in a too-long line for the restroom. Who among us hasn't thrown an unfortunate load into a pair of panties? Mine happened in a bar in Newport Beach. Tossed the underwear in the bathroom trash can and scrambled out like Michael Vick. Who can say where Ballmer happened? But in his wisdom and grace, he swore, “Never again.” A groundbreaking ceremony on the Intuit Dome. In total there are over 1,400 toilets. “The architects always get on my nerves,” said Ballmer. “They should be called 'facilities' instead of 'toilets.'” But it's the same thing. We put in a lot more restrooms than anyone else in the NBA.”

Little squiggles adorn the signs for the restrooms, tiny silhouettes of men and women stretching their arms toward the sky, foam fingers on their hands.

Inline images via Tyler Parker

I went into every men's room I could find to set my eyes on those fixtures and see the fruits of all his excitement.

What I expected: mood lighting, dark wood paneling, hardwood floors, screens in the hardwood floors, in-game audio, futuristic country club restrooms that are equal parts stylish and high-tech. No bidets, but maybe seat warmers. The softest two-layer fabric money can buy. Urinal cake with Tim Cook's face on it. Couches, candles, mints, that weird deodorant spray Arrid makes. Mouthwash and dental floss, Tylenol and BOSS. Some guy in a dress vest hands me paper towels with coats of arms on them.

What I got: artisanal, utilitarian Brascos. Mainly black and white, with some gray and silver in the mix. Abandoned Blue Moon and Pacifico Tallboys on stainless steel shelves above the urinals, scraps of TP stain the floor. No in-game sound to speak of. If you want to know what's happening in the game, you zip up your pants and get back out there, friend. Music from the speakers, a strange collection of current and past Top 40. Unfortunately there was “party rock” in the house that evening. Luckily also “Not Like Us”. There was also a new Drake song that I stopped paying attention to, and somehow “Best Friend” by 50 Cent.

I didn't take many photos in the bathrooms because I'm not a weirdo and public restrooms aren't places that warrant or invite documentation. But that was a preseason game against the Kings. Some were ghost toilets.

From an aesthetic perspective, the bathrooms won't win any design awards. We're not messing with the troughs at Wrigley, but we're not peeing in marble thrones either. They are there to do the work, nothing more. We're talking about pragmatic, functional shits. Some bathrooms were large, others small. Some were so huge that they contained supporting columns, but every single one was basically normal.

People watched videos on their cell phones as they nibbled bread, noise and smell wafted through the stalls, an unknown voice shouted: “We had him circumcised, but the military did it.” It never took.” They wrote text messages at the urinals. They were trying to figure out the automatic paper towel dispensers. They looked at themselves in the full-length mirror, adjusted the drape of their Terance Mann jerseys, and answered the phone: “What's the good word?”

Normality was initially confusing and perhaps a little disappointing. A multi-billionaire who has hyped up the toilet situation every time he's on the microphone – how can the mind not be full of possibilities? But when you think about it, the streamlined simplicity makes sense.

“We don’t want people waiting in line,” Ballmer said in March 2023. “We want them back in their damn seats.”

He didn't lie. The Intuit Dome is constructed in this image. The focus is on what's happening on the pitch, and all the extra bells and whistles enhance the on-court viewing experience. “I like to think of it as a basketball palazzo,” Ballmer said. All right, Stefano, pump up the brakes. Towering over center court is a 38,375-square-foot wonder called the Halo Board, a double-sided screen so huge it can show replays from four different angles at once. It's bright and seductive, full of stats and lineups, scoring breakdowns and shot charts. Still, it's not so intrusive that it affects sightlines. I walked around the top of the dome and wherever I stood I had a clear view of the courtyard. Infrared-powered LEDs are installed in the armrests, which flash during big games and glow in different shades of red, white and blue. Accompanying these lights are USB-C chargers at each seat. Ballmer may have thought the iPhone was a stupid idea, but he at least wants your iPhone to remain fully functional. Take photos, videos. Show your friends how much fun you had.

Ballmer doesn't want you to stay on the toilet a second longer than necessary. It doesn't try to give you a comfortable lounge area where you can relax and unwind surrounded by the beautiful things. He doesn't want you to take your time and extend your stay. He wants you to get in and out and back to your damn place. James Harden is about to bait the referees again. The fight is announced. There is no time to waste.