Gone to pot

Our previous visit to Asia proved to be a cultural experience in the bathroom, and once again Tokyo did not disappoint.

We had a small problem entering the international flight concourse since we could never figure out how to print our second boarding pass prior to the flight. After exiting our first flight, we were required to go through additional security before reaching the ticket counter to get our next set of boarding passes, yet we were not allowed through security without the boarding passes. We had to exit the line to let everyone else pass through as we shuffled through emails and phone apps for any kind of document that showed we were supposed to be there. Mark had a printed itinerary and the security guard, weary of our failing attempts, finally accepted that and let us through.

By the time we found our next departure gate, the nearby restroom seemed to be hypnotically drawing each of us into its den of modern contraptions, even though we were filled with doubt and trepidation. Remembering our previous experiences, it felt uncomfortably awkward, much like being wooed by a black widow into her tangled web.

I wound my way through a narrow corridor, following the cryptic signs to the bathroom. Once inside, the walls were lined with doors that looked more like cattle stalls than bathroom stalls. They were double sized and probably all wheelchair accessible. Against the back wall was the obvious porcelain throne surrounded by a myriad of unrecognizable devices. One corner had a long cylindrical device about two feet tall with an odd cover that I could only assume was a trash can but not sure why it would be there since signs specifically noted to throw all paper into the toilet. Beside that was a very large curved device that could only be described as a modern kitchen sink faucet for the Jolly Green Giant. I sure hoped I wasn't supposed to use that to wash after finishing my business. It was more like a shower head than a butt washer so I decided to leave it alone.

Taking my place on the seat, immediately a speaker came on with the sound of running water. I recalled my early years in our small church with a tiny bathroom that adjoined the fellowship hall. The women would immediately run the faucet upon entry, I assumed it was to try and mask whatever noises may indiscreetly slip through. This practical device saved on water and still provided the necessary distraction. I was impressed. I then settled into place and began looking around at the myriad of instructions, buttons and signs that adorned the walls and door. 

The control panel for the toilet was at first rather daunting. The first button controlled the speaker system that was currently playing what sounded like a babbling brook. I wondered if any of the buttons would change the sounds to rain on a tin roof or maybe ocean waves, but I decided not to try them in case one option was an alarm.

Next was the main toilet control with plenty of features and lots of instructions.  The first was the most important: "Stops posterior washing". Ok, good to know, I will certainly keep that one in mind. The next button was labeled shower. I was definitely staying away from that one, remembering the afore mentioned shower head to my right. Next was the bidet button, and then a dryer button which I suspiciously eyed. I cautiously pressed a few buttons. Soon my butt started feeling like someone was squirting jalapeño pepper juice directly into a strategic area of my neither region. It was then that I spotted the warning signs directly across from me.  Just above the important notice not to STAND ON the toilet was was the notice "In case of emergency, please call to the Disaster Prevention Center". I didn't need to be told twice. I returned to the stop button and promptly pushed it. 

Once things calmed down and I was getting ready to exit the stall, I heard the distinct high pitched voices of women talking in the bathroom. I paused, wondering if this was normal and perhaps restrooms here were not gender specific. Just in case, I waited quietly until they were safely in their stalls and I slipped out and headed to the sinks. As I was using the air dryer, one of the women stepped out of the stall and gave me an unpleasant look. I checked the dryer again in case I had my hands in the wrong place and then scurried out of the room. As I exited the bathroom, a cop was standing there writing in some little book. As I passed him I glanced back at the entryway at the sign which was clearly marked WOMEN.