O O Ø O O O O
Die Toiletten
There comes a point in every long trip when you start to tire of travelling. Inevitably, you choose one thing to fixate on—something that is different enough from home that it serves as a constant reminder that you’re not in the proverbial Kansas anymore.
In Germany, it’s the toilet.
German toilets, if you haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing one, is not the conventional North American-style water-filled bowl. And while there is a water-filled region, it is more reminiscent of a teacup, and it is squeezed against the extreme front of the bowl. The rest of the fixture is dominated by the German contribution to potty-tech: a raised, slightly cupped, and entirely dry platform for your business to rest on once it emerges (I suppose it has a name. I would guess Scheißeregal). The reasoning for this design is lost on me, and it makes me worry I may be missing out on an important aspect of German etiquette. Am I supposed to inspect the shape and consistency of my brown baby (Braunesbaby, perhaps), and bring it up in conversation later? Should I trade in my German phrasebook for one that has an expanded section on smells? Are the inevitable brown streaks a sign to the next lavatory visitor that the toilet is still functional?
I asked a German about this once (I wasn’t worried about the etiquette implications—if you’re forced to look at your corn-studded mud snake (Mais verzierte Schlammschlange) every time you visit the loo, I can only assume you are allowed to talk about it), and they told me that it was to “avoid the splash.” Chemical pit toilets aside, (yes, it has happened, and no, I do not want to talk about it) I’m not sure I would trade the occasional splash for the necessity of examining (and smelling) one’s stool each and every time a loaf is pinched.
Furthermore, if spashing is an issue when sitting, why not when standing?
I don’t know if you’ve ever had the privilege of trying to pee into a saucer before, but unless it is the German way to always sit while doing the Pipi (and there’s probably a word for that, too—I’d guess sitzpinkeln), splashing is a way of life.
But alas, my trip is almost at an end. In a matter of hours (many hours, and and perhaps another few rants on air travel), I can once again enjoy the sanctity of my North American, splash-enabled, nichtsitzpinkeln throne. I might just curl up there for the day.
Die, Deutschestoiletten, die.
Kjell Wooding
August 1, 2006
OOØOOOODCCLXXV
August 4th, 2006 at 2:56 pm
“Die, Deutschestoiletten, die”
“The, German toilets, the.”
Was ist los?
August 8th, 2006 at 11:43 am
Why, it’s a two-language pun, of course.
Die, German toilets, die.
Or,
The German toilets, die.
August 8th, 2006 at 3:40 pm
hilarious - absolutely hilarious.
August 11th, 2006 at 10:05 am
Yeah, the Germans do pee sitting down. Check this out.
http://www.collegehumor.com/pictures/1618635/
August 14th, 2006 at 8:10 pm
I knew it!