The ドリンクバー (quite literally "drink bar") in many Japanese restaurants is a great system in which you pay one low price (about $2-3) and get unlimited access to the soda fountain, tea (in its many varieties) and coffee. Unfortunately, such a freely flowing supply of liquids can only lead to one result:
"Excuse me," I stammer out my request. "Where are the bathrooms?"
I know they can already hear me coming. I hesitate. Could I wait? Did I really have to go? I reflected on the pot of tea, the two tall glasses of a luminous green Fanta and the extra cup of water I'd used to wash them down with. No, I'd brought this upon myself and it was time to face the music. If only I'd known how true that statement was going to be.
However, upon entering the cubicle I frowned. The toilet looked ... normal. Your basic plain white porcelain bowl.
Could this be heaven?
I sat.
No. Damn thing is still heated.
It was then that I noticed the electronic panel mounted on the wall beside me. Evidently, one small toilet can no longer be expected to hold all the essential options for the full evacuating experience. It was time to resort to digital screens. In assessing the choices available to me, I noted that in this extreme version of the toilet attraction, the normal bidet functions had gone. Instead, you had not one but THREE versions of the tsunami jets. These new variations (I deduced from the diagrams) allowed you to choose at exactly which angle you'd like to be blasted off the toilet seat. Would you prefer to smack your head against the rear wall or a direction aimed more towards anal penetration? More power required? Not a problem, just click the button on the bottom right.
Don't look at the screen. You're only here for one reason. Focus!
Then the flushing tune began. What had triggered it? Did it just start the sound effects when it judged it appropriate? Was it a hint that I should hurry and get the hell out? How on earth did I get it to stop? A hasty look around revealed the presence of a small speaker system below the tsunami ride screen. It had a single button on it. It was desperate times. I pressed it. The noise mercifully stopped.
I took a sigh of relief and managed to exhale 60% of the air in my lungs before the flushing music started up again.
WTF?
It appeared the noise maker was controlled by a motion sensor. Wave your hands and conduct your way through the first toilet-flush concerto! The drawback I seemed to have discovered was that, unless you stayed ABSOLUTELY STILL, you were going to trigger that sensor. I tried not moving. This presented the obvious problems.
Enough! I was leaving. Then I realised there was no obvious way to flush the toilet. No flusher, no auto-sensor... Maybe this was actually a toilet-simulator and not the real thing after all. At this stage, that would be... unfortunate. Finally, I spotted the smallest button of all, situated on the top of the control screen. I had escaped.
Next time, I'm bringing a trowel and digging a hole.
"Excuse me," I stammer out my request. "Where are the bathrooms?"
I know they can already hear me coming. I hesitate. Could I wait? Did I really have to go? I reflected on the pot of tea, the two tall glasses of a luminous green Fanta and the extra cup of water I'd used to wash them down with. No, I'd brought this upon myself and it was time to face the music. If only I'd known how true that statement was going to be.
However, upon entering the cubicle I frowned. The toilet looked ... normal. Your basic plain white porcelain bowl.
Could this be heaven?
I sat.
No. Damn thing is still heated.
It was then that I noticed the electronic panel mounted on the wall beside me. Evidently, one small toilet can no longer be expected to hold all the essential options for the full evacuating experience. It was time to resort to digital screens. In assessing the choices available to me, I noted that in this extreme version of the toilet attraction, the normal bidet functions had gone. Instead, you had not one but THREE versions of the tsunami jets. These new variations (I deduced from the diagrams) allowed you to choose at exactly which angle you'd like to be blasted off the toilet seat. Would you prefer to smack your head against the rear wall or a direction aimed more towards anal penetration? More power required? Not a problem, just click the button on the bottom right.
Don't look at the screen. You're only here for one reason. Focus!
Then the flushing tune began. What had triggered it? Did it just start the sound effects when it judged it appropriate? Was it a hint that I should hurry and get the hell out? How on earth did I get it to stop? A hasty look around revealed the presence of a small speaker system below the tsunami ride screen. It had a single button on it. It was desperate times. I pressed it. The noise mercifully stopped.
I took a sigh of relief and managed to exhale 60% of the air in my lungs before the flushing music started up again.
WTF?
It appeared the noise maker was controlled by a motion sensor. Wave your hands and conduct your way through the first toilet-flush concerto! The drawback I seemed to have discovered was that, unless you stayed ABSOLUTELY STILL, you were going to trigger that sensor. I tried not moving. This presented the obvious problems.
Enough! I was leaving. Then I realised there was no obvious way to flush the toilet. No flusher, no auto-sensor... Maybe this was actually a toilet-simulator and not the real thing after all. At this stage, that would be... unfortunate. Finally, I spotted the smallest button of all, situated on the top of the control screen. I had escaped.
Next time, I'm bringing a trowel and digging a hole.