A recent conversation among some friends spawned some very interesting observations and comments about foreign travel. While most rants about this topic would include joyous and fun-filled memories of traversing through the streets of ol' gay Paris or eating one's way through the street markets and family restaurants of Italy, this particular exchange took on a very "deep" attitude. You see, a few of these people have experienced public toilets in China and like most respectable and well-mannered friends, we decided that it would be appropriate to discuss this at dinner.
I think the dinner took a decidedly downward turn when descriptions of the woman's art of "the hover," turned into demonstrations of this popular technique. Apparently, the "hole" that the Chinese call their toilet is no more than two or three inches in diameter with no known true depth and one must have a degree or certificate in archery (or darts for the bar-going crowd) or have achieved the "perfect spray" to qualify to use these so called instruments of sanitation. And unlike performing "the hover" over an American-ized toilet, this hole is literally in the floor. If one doesn't "hover" low enough, they are faced with terrible dilemmas involving the ankles and pant legs.
A hand goes up and one female friend stops the conversation with, "at one point I am trying to pull up my pant legs to keep them out of the splatter, hold them up to my knees so I don't pee on them, and pull down my pants so I can pee. Imagine doing that while trying to maintain balance--in high heels--and not touch anything around you."
Needless to say, she bit it. Hit the ground. Failed the hover test. Devastating. Dirty, too. Imagine if her heel would have fallen into that hole. I wonder where it would go.
It makes me think back to being a child and feverishly digging holes in the ground, convinced that my sister and brother were right and that I was going to dig my way to China and be famous, only to hear my mother yelling out of the kitchen window that my Dad was going to "use the belt" if I didn't get away from his tomato plants. Maybe the Chinese are taught the same thing by their hateful siblings and that is where their "holes" come from. They have just found a purpose for them. Leave it to those thrifty and inventive Asians!
"Rather than doing this hover business," says one gal, "I would just sit on the damn hole and use wet naps afterwards. Fuck it!" And she is serious. And we were all appalled and slightly disgusted. That is until one of the husbands demonstrated how a man might ensure not missing the hole or splattering around the perimeter. Think push ups...or...well, you get my point. We might find out how deep that hole is then!
Or perhaps we feel most sorry for the guy who, in the immortal words of that great poet and inspirational literary genius Jimmy Buffett, "blew out a flip flop" at the greatest spectacle in white trash history, the Indianapolis 500. He should be in therapy over that issue. I know I would be.
As men, we are lucky that we can stand and be proud to spray our goods. Particularly when we are in that bar or restaurant that looks as if it has seen more than one long, hard night of St. Patty's Day amateur drinkers, it is nice to be able to stand. But, I will be the first to admit that when I am in the comfort of my own home, I will take my own seat just to avoid cleaning "the splatter." The plight of the woman is certainly unfortunate, but I get the feeling that they are preprogrammed with "the hover" and it is something that comes to them out of instinct. While the rest of us men take the time to create our nest of toilet paper, carefully covering all that might come into contact with our bare bottoms, women run in, assume their position, and are done with it. Then they can spend the rest of their allotted bathroom time chatting about the cute guy on the other side of the bar. Or the guy who won't stop following them. Or simply reapplying the lipstick that has been smooched off all night.
As with most dinner-time conversations, this one must come to an end and we depart, all of us a little closer now that we know our deepest darkest bathroom secrets. So whether you are brave enough to accept the challenge of the public toilet or crazy enough to drive all the way home for lunch just "to go," we all have our own personal issues with the daily duty.
Be well, friends. And don't forget to flush.
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