Of Toilets and Alarms

Ok, so SERIOUSLY. The one complaint I have about Japan is that the toilets here are ridiculously complicated. Everytime I use a public restroom, it takes at least a few minutes to find the flush button, which conventiently changes locations every time. There are several other buttons, not even half with pictures, in various locations in the toilet stall.

Now, I just ate lunch in the student cafeteria, on the second floor of a 3 floored dining hall. Having to, understandably, relieve myself after the meal, I headed to the washroom. After going, I stood, as always staring down at the machine in front of me, taking in the plethora of options. Which button to push? Which one will carry away my goodies into Never-never Land?

I first tried the unmarked one, situated on the lower part of the back wall. This is usually the best bet. I pushed, and a tube with a few spray holes began to emerge menecingly out of the toilet seat. I pushed again in panic, and the spray tube retreated. Phew.

I took in the usual bidet, spray, and flushing SOUND buttons. No, not them. There were several more buttons on the opposite arm of the toilet, whose function was obviously indicated by the character inscribed on each one. There were three on the right wall of the stall, and one rather large one on the left wall. After wieghing my options, and exausting all methods of logic, I decided on the big one on the left wall. It was isolated, almost switch like, and larger than the rest. It looked like an important button.

I took a deep breath, nervously extended my pointer finger, and pushed.

An alarm sounded.

Completely confused, stunned, and frankly freaked out, I impulsively pressed again. The other button have retracted the water blow tube, why shouldnt the alarm stop sounding?

Oh, no. It got louder.

My heart racing, I frantically took one last look at the buttons, and then ran for it.

Just as I disappeared into the stairwell, a few women raced towards the toilet. They did not see me, but I am sure they saw the little present I left behind.

And THAT, friends, is a story to tell your children.