My Deep-Seated (Ha!) Loathing of Magic Toilets


Ominous Toilet

Daunting, isn’t it?

Or, “Why women take so long in the bathroom.”

Hello, and welcome to an installment of what is basically “Shit that pisses me off.”

I decided a long time ago that I don’t care for magic bathroom fixtures. You know, automatically flushing toilets, automatically starting sinks, and the like. I’m perfectly capable of operating the handles on these fixtures myself. My mild disdain for magic bathrooms turned into full-blown unadulterated loathing recently, however, as I found myself trapped in a particularly horrendous magic toilet.

First of all and before I get into my bathroom misadventures, I must point out that I can come up with absolutely NOTHING good, useful, or beneficial about automatically flushing toilets. They’re not to save water (that’s what low-flow toilets are for), and they can’t be for germophobes, because most of those people flush using their feet anyway. Are they because filthy, lazy people can’t be bothered to flush, and an automatic mechanism ensures maximum flushage? (Say “flushage” without sounding drunk. I dare you.) Because if that’s the case, people really, really fucking suck. Flush the damn toilet, you disgusting pig. Some of those automatic things will flush a couple of times while you’re in there, so I KNOW it ain’t to save water. And I’ve never done my business in such a grandiose manner that I needed three flushes. Never. Not even on Cinco De Mayo when I spent the whole day drinking Coronas, then topped them off with a couple of shots of Jack Daniels and a half-dozen tacos. Despite my arguably impressive digestive pyrotechnics that day, I still did not need multiple flushes. And I’m too much of an asshole to buy into the “courtesy flush.” What kind of a pussy move is that? Who ARE these people? As “courteous” as I’m willing to get about taking a shit is the fact that I’m not doing it in your shoes or on the hood of your car. Courtesy flush, my ass.

So I go into this lovely, well-appointed public restroom, and walk into the handicapped stall. Hey, I like having a little extra room. Don’t you judge me! Larry Craig ain’t the only one of us with a “wide stance.” Besides, what are the odds that some lady in a wheelchair is going to need that stall at the EXACT SAME SECOND that I do? Not very good, I’d say, and if she does, she can wait. It’s not like if you’re handicapped, you can wait until the last second when you’re about to pee all over the place and then suddenly run to the bathroom. Getting around in a wheelchair takes time and planning. You know ahead when you have to go, because you have to figure in for maneuvering. So you can wait for my non-handicapped ass, because I guarantee you that you don’t have to go THAT bad. I feel the same way about parking spaces, but no one is going to ticket me for parking my ass in the roomy bathroom stall. If they made ’em ALL roomy, I wouldn’t be so choosy. I digress.

Anyway, I automatically think to myself “Oh great, a magic toilet. I hate those things.” The toilet, perhaps sensing my apprehension, glowered menacingly. Gingerly I sat, ever-mindful of the sensor that causes the toilet to flush. I sat perfectly still whilst I did my business, praying to the magic toilet God that all would proceed smoothly. With the toilet, I mean. Everything otherwise generally proceeds smoothly. I eat my fiber and so should you. I was fortunate on this particular occasion in that I only had to do ‘number one.’ I finished up and leaned forward to reach the toilet paper (which is NOT automatic, by the way, and if it was, they’d probably only give you one square), and….

FLUUUUUUUUUUSHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

The magic toilet goes off, effectively spraying my bare ass with soiled toilet water. How very pleasant. FREEZING COLD soiled toilet water, mind you. Howling obscenities, I leap up, hopping around with my pants around my ankles, and then sit back down quickly, realizing that I am now dripping soiled toilet water into my pants and flinging it all over the stall by waving my ass around. My sitting back down, however, has apparently angered the magic toilet.

FLUUUUUUUUUUSHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Well hell, at least this time, it’s clean water. Public toilet water, mind you, but surely cleaner than the water I’d just peed in. I reach for the toilet paper again and sponge off my now soaking wet bare ass, clean myself up, stand up, pull up my pants and reassemble myself, and…. no flush. This cruel joke of a waste-removal device, now filled with toilet paper, will not flush. I wave my hands in front of the sensor. Nothing. I take a test-sit with my pants on, preparing to hastily jump back up in case the toilet flushes. Nothing. I am now leaping up and down like Rumpelstiltskin on crack in front of the sensor. Nothing. Finally, I give up. I will have to live with being one of those disgusting pigs who doesn’t flush the toilet. At least it wasn’t my fault, and there’s nothing in it but paper. I leave the stall and slam the door and…

FLUUUUUUUUUUSHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I contemplate running back into the stall and kicking the hell out of this toilet. I proceed to the sink instead. Oh, terrific. It’s a magic sink! I wave my hands under the faucet, and – you guessed it – nothing. Another woman comes into the bathroom and witnesses me waving my hands around in the general vicinity of the sink; a look of great concentration on my face. She asks what I am doing. I snap “I’m trying to make the sink disappear!” Copperfield has nothing on my hand-waving action. Finally, the sink turns on and I shove my hands under the water. The second I get my hands under the water, the faucet turns off and I can’t get it to turn on again. This dance continues for a few moments as the woman from before comes out, having had apparently no trouble with the toilet (bitch), waves her hands under the faucet, leisurely washes, and excuses herself. I wait until she leaves and then sneak over to try her sink. Nothing. Blast!

Finally, I got my hands wet enough to pass for having washed them, and I proceeded to the paper towel dispenser. Also automatic. I test-waved my hand in front of the sensor. Third time’s a charm, right? Nothing. I gave up and wiped my hands on my pants. On my way out, I kicked the trash can.

Clearly, I am a ninja who is invisible to automatic bathroom fixture sensors in some way. If only that were useful. I hate magic bathrooms. When they start making the latches on the stall doors automatic, I’m carrying around a bucket.

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About Miz Parker

I'm a musician, writer, web developer and avid reader who maintains two blogs. For Bucket List Book Reviews (formerly Bucket List Media), my goal is to read and review each book on the popular list "1,001 Books to Read Before You Die." This blog is intended to chronicle my experiences and thoughts on each, and share opinions with other bibliophiles. Bucket List Media is a semi-serious blog which is appropriate for all ages. For Live At E's (see the menu), I rant in general about pop culture, life, celebrities, and current events. Live At E's contains foul language and is deliberately offensive. Turn on your sarcasm detector.
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10 Responses to My Deep-Seated (Ha!) Loathing of Magic Toilets

  1. Scott Howard says:

    Hey Em, glad to see you back to ranting. I love it. catch me next time your on facebook please..

    Loveya
    Scott

  2. britheblogger says:

    Did that woman actually ask you what you were doing? Stuuuuupid. I also share your hatred for magic bathroom appliances, although my least favorite are the paper towel dispeners. Those rarely work for me and I HATE wiping my hands on my pants. I usually try to use TP, but its always cheap so it disinegrates into a sad sloppy mess. Annoying!

    • Miz Parker says:

      Bri, she totally did ask me what I was doing. One would imagine that it should be obvious. Ironically, I hate electric hand dryers as well, because they take too long and I don’t want to spend more time in the bathroom than I have to. What happened to old-fashioned paper towels!

  3. Loved this. Especially, “She asks what I am doing. I snap “I’m trying to make the sink disappear!” Copperfield has nothing on my hand-waving action.” I was stifling my laugh at work and it came out all weird but that’s ok, totally worth it. So glad I found you through the writing group. 🙂

  4. Ed Williams says:

    How I “stumbled” onto your blog I forget. I usually start with porn, get bored, feel Catholic guilt then start linking to more intellectual reading as if that’s my entrance into heaven. ANYway… this piece had me in tears of laughter. I too get TOTALLY frustrated with automatic ANYthing and restrooms are NO exception. I miss the gool old days when sink handles were covered in some little kids snot (or at least I THOUGHT that’s what it was), or I’ll never forget this one time while at a state park camping, having to flush (three times) what I thought was someones head (hair and all) down the toilet before I could attempt to use it.
    Thanks again for the GREAT read! Love it!
    Ed
    http://www.tryined.wordpress.com

    • Miz Parker says:

      Oh, sick! I’ve never flushed a head down the toilet. There’s always a first time for everything. Something to look forward to.

      And I’m pretty sure I don’t qualify as “intellectual reading”, but I’ll take it!

  5. pithypants says:

    Can TOTALLY relate. Thanks for making me laugh.

    Even so, there’s something to be said about the acoustics of toilets. Like this one: http://tinyurl.com/3lghhl7.
    And then there’s the challenge blind people face in O’Hare: http://tinyurl.com/6feyux4

    • Miz Parker says:

      Thanks for stopping by!

      I DO like the acoustics of toilets. I thought if I had an acoustic band, it would be fun to have practices in a big old bathroom. Have you seen that one that’s transparent from the inside, so you can see people walking around while you do your business, but they can’t see you? Creepy.

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