The self-describing toilet

I've been spending time at the hospital with my Mum.  As I arrive each morning I stop at the public toilets on the way in.
Today, a cleaner said,
'I'm afraid you can't come in here, but you can use the disabled one, opposite.'

In I went and shut the door.

Behind me a voice said, 'Welcome.'

I jumped.

'If you are blind or partially sighted and would like an audio description of this toilet, just wave your hand in front of this sensor.'

I didn't need such a description and frankly was doubtful that prose could do the toilet justice, so did not wave.

However, in spare moments, I found myself wondering whether the description would include the confetti of shreds of toilet paper on the floor, the trim of ancient grime along edges and corners.

The next day I returned surreptitiously and waved my hand.
The description was functional - toilet in righthand corner, sanitary bin to its left, emergency cord behind it.

I was dissatisfied with the description on two counts.

Firstly, it omitted some information that would have been very useful:
'Watch out! The person before you left the seat up. And try to avoid treading in the shallow pool of suspicious-looking fluid just in front of the loo.'

Secondly, it lacked ambition. If unable to see one's surrounds, one might wish to believe that they were beautiful and luxurious.
'The walls are frescoed in the Italian manner, surmount by a rococo  cornice of white stucco, with a scallop shell motif picked out in gold leaf.'

Now that's the toilet I'd want to visualise.