The scene: the men’s room in the Horner Park Fieldhouse.

The star: Al Scorch, a musician and vintage shop owner who has lately become best known for reviewing park district bathrooms on Instagram, in an exaggerated Chicago accent.

The script: “Back wid anudder Chicago Park District batchroom review,” recites Scorch, dressed in his trademark Carhartt jacket and blue woolen beanie, as he films himself with his phone. “Dis is a fantastic facility we’re in today. Kind of a mid-century modern vibe in dis one. Look at dis glazed tile all around dis place. We even got it on a pillar over by da sinks, so dis is great stuff.”

Scorch swings around to film himself in front of a bank of windows: “Dese windows, way up high, beautiful textured glass still intact, and we got dis bent tile here, dis window ledge tile, dere’s even a profile to it. It kinda bumps out. Great detail here.”

Then, of course, he brings the toilets into the picture: “Lotsa commodes. We got rubberized modern doors, bank o’ urinals behind me dere. And then you see this tile continues on. And even right here, dey got this corner tile on the pillars right here. Mid-century gem. Dis is really, really cool. Beautiful batchroom. Look at the floor. It’s beautiful. That’s beautiful. Great terrazzo with the gold grout.”

Scorch pockets his phone, and Chicago Park District Batchroom Review No. 12 is in the can. 

It all started last November, at Kilbourn Park. Scorch went to the park for early voting, but the line was too long, so he went to the bathroom instead. He was blown away by the marble stalls and the steam radiators.

“I went in there and I was like, ‘Oh, this is a classic one,’” he recalls.

Scorch whipped out his phone, recorded a review, and posted it to Instagram. Thus far, it’s been viewed 233,000 times. Why is it so popular? Park district bathrooms are universal, because they’re among the few open to the public, no purchase required, no questions asked. A full bladder is the only price of admission.

“It’s great for a series, because there’s so many parks,” Scorch says. “It’s a common experience. Everybody goes to the park.”

And everybody goes to the toilet, but nobody else posts about it on Instagram. By singing the praises of places to piss, Scorch has made himself the poet of the potty, the bard of the bathroom, the lyricist of the loo.

At Riis Park, Scorch raved about a “modern re-do” that included a “modern accessible commode” and hexagonal floor tiles. At Shabbona Park, it was “historically aesthetic” replacement windows and polished granite walls. At the South Shore Cultural Center, he lamented that the modern redesign did not maintain “some of its historical characteristics,” but admired the wooden blinds.

The Chicago accent is a put-on, although it’s based on voices Scorch heard growing up in Dunning. 

“I was raised in it,” he says. “My one buddy’s dad was a sanitation worker. You’d go to a church carnival, and all the drunk moms and dads were, ‘You see dat Blues Bruddders tribute act?’”

It adds to the Chicago feel of the reviews, as does Scorch himself. Burly and bearded, he looks like a Streets and San worker, although he’s chosen an artsier path. As a musician who plays banjo and guitar, he has a monthly residency at the Hideout, and he’s co-owner of Apricot Vintage in Irving Park.

Scorch has a fan base among park district staff, including superintendent Carlos Ramirez-Rosa, says deputy director of communications Irene Tostado. 

“We have a couple people who are avid followers of his,” Tostado says. “He has a strong support system here at the park system. He’s admiring some of the great architectural gems we have, even in bathrooms.”

(After Scorch finished his Shabbona Park review, one of the employees asked, “Are you the bathroom review guy?”)

In fact, says Tostado, the park district has reached out to Scorch to pitch him on new bathrooms to review: “maybe one of our quirkier ones.”

Once Scorch finishes his Horner Park review, he stops to reflect on what a gift a quality park district bathroom is to the people of Chicago.

“It’s a beautiful public resource,” he says. “This is high-end for the people. Terrazzo floors? That’s what rich people have.”

Then, Scorch brings the whole project back to the Earth by stepping into a stall to take a leak. No matter how beautiful a bathroom is, it exists to collect human waste.

“I’m actually gonna use this,” he announces. “Little cinema verite.”

You’ll never see that part on Instagram.