Choices.

Those Seattlites love a fully loaded stall. Options baby, options.

World-class amenities.

WC. Food. Ice Cream. Camel.

What more could I ask for?

Point of view.

The best seat at sea is often in the pisser.

Resonance and reverberation.

A tribute to the creepiest place on earth: the Ploce train station.

With only a handful of daily trains passing through, it was deserted. One word epitomizes the atmosphere. Echo.

The acoustic in this place were stunning. Every word spoken, every shoe scraping across the floor, and every tap of a pen on a cold, plastic table echoed throughout the station with stunning clarity. Snap your fingers and you'd think an army was tap dancing in. Click your heels and you'd instantly take the train to Kansas and back, umpteen times.

So imagine the glorious symphony of bathroom sounds. Ricocheting urine, repetitive flatulence, or the infamous waterfall flush summoning impending Armageddon.

The desolate cart toilet was out of order, and the actual toilets, located to the left of the carts, were so special that I've since blacked them out of my memory.

Disappointment.

Rest stop closed? Guess I'll just go in the grass next to my car.

Tough stains, no more!

Makes cleanup a cinch.

Are those fold down arm rests?

Terrible.

Just plain bad design.

Let's take a closer look.

Yep, I'm not sticking my finger in there.

Revolution or devolution.

Here is the future.



And here are the facts.

At least now men of the world can unite and pee green.

Sorry ladies, this eco-friendly pissing thing is a gentleman's only club. In fact, as progressive alpha males, we could solve this issue by ditching the toilet all together and going behind a tree. In the bushes. Between parked cars. Behind a dumpster.

Or maybe with some black-socked, beer-guzzling Germans along a fence... next to the porta-potties.

But who wants to relieve themselves in a smelly, plastic box that's been roasting in the sun all day? Not me. I'll embrace the group session along the fence.

Broke.

Sad. I know. Let's just remember it as it once was. In its time of glory.

Park pot II: a popular attraction.

The most inefficient public toilet in San Francisco.

The alleged intricacies: A cleaning cycle lasts for 5 minutes after EVERY use. "The City of San Francisco assumes that all tourists near Pier 39 are the filth of the earth."

The alleged complexities: A revolving, cyndrilical door rotates open allowing only one adult inside at a time. "The City of San Francisco aims to reduce the chances for hanky panky inside our Pier 39 pot."

"Come take a squat at Pier 39." -The City of San Francisco

And thus, there's a bigger line outside of this toilet then the tour to Alcatraz.

Submitted by Dustin. We're taking submissions now. Send them in!

Twist and shout.

Please grip plastic tab firmly between your index finger and thumb. Turn gently clockwise. Flush.

Prehistoric pot.

The ancient Greeks had it all, over 2,500 years ago.

But was I doing this horribly wrong? Were the archaic sitters really squatters?

In any case, it must've been great to do your business where all your buddies could see.

Way, way worse.

Now... it could have been dirtier and smellier. And at least I wasn't flanked on each side by squatting, grunting old men like in Belgrade. I did have my privacy. I'll give them that.

The worst part was the flush. Use the red contraption under the faucet. Wash it away... wash it all away, out of sight.

There. Don't you feel better now?

Way better than us.

In an ultra-modern shopping mall in İstanbul, we find the cinema of all cinemas. Well, I didn't actually see a film here but I did use their bathroom. And if the theater is anything like the pisser, it's pretty f'ing sweet.

They've even got little monitors in every stall.


But what gives?!?! How the hell am I supposed to watch this screen? It's behind my head! Hmmm, maybe some reverse squat, side-saddle technique. Damn these cultural differences.

Oh those Turks! They've thought of everything. BAM! Mirrors on the back of the door.

The experience is everything.

It was good for me. Was it good for you? Thanks Rogue Brewing.

Some people have it better than us.

The Germans. And their super-sleek, ultra-modern BMW Welt. The showroom of all showroom's where you can test drive cars inside the building, combust frickin' hydrogen particles to start an engine, touch screens to customize cars, and poop in the future.

It wasn't really anything especially special, but after urinal troughs and piss-covered Oktoberfest floors, this clean, pristine environ was a welcome German embrace.

I'm pretty sure a jolly lil' guy comes in after your done and does the flushing for you.

Culture shock.

So what is the biggest difference between American and European toilets?

Water, wasser, acqua, eau, agua, voda, bодa, νερό, su, apă, aqua, vìppita, aba.

Pee under extreme precaution... I hear there could be splash back.

Nobody likes a splasher.

Big Boy.

By David Sedaris

It was Easter Sunday in Chicago, and my sister Amy and I were attending an afternoon dinner at the home of our friend John. The weather was nice, and he'd set up a table in the backyard so that we might sit in the sun. Everyone had taken their places, when I excused myself to visit the bathroom, and there, in the toilet, was the absolute biggest turd I have ever seen in my life - no toilet paper or anything, just this long and coiled specimen, as thick as a burrito.

I flushed the toilet, and the big turd trembled. It shifted position, but that was it. This thing wasn't going anywhere. I thought briefly of leaving it behind for someone else to take care of, but it was too late for that. Too late, because before getting up from the table, I'd stupidly told everyone where I was going. "I'll be back in a minute," I'd said. "I'm just going to run to the bathroom." My whereabouts were public knowledge. I should have said I was going to make a phone call. I'd planned to urinate and maybe run a little water over my face, but now I had this to deal with.

The tank refilled, and I made a silent promise. The deal was that if this thing would go away, I'd repay the world by performing some unexpected act of kindness. I flushed the toilet a second time, and the big turd spun a lazy circle. "Go on," I whispered. "Scoot! Shoo!" I turned away, ready to perform my good deed, but when I looked back down, there it was, bobbing to the surface in a fresh pool of water.

Just then someone knocked on the door, and I stated to panic.

"Just a minute."

At an early age my mother sat me down and explained that everyone has bowel movements. "Everyone," she'd said. "Even the president and his wife." She'd mentioned our neighbors, the priest, and several of the actors we saw each week on television. I'd gotten the overall picture, but natural or not, there was no way I was going to take responsibility for this one.

"Just a minute."

I seriously considered lifting this turd out of the toilet and tossing it out the window. It honestly crossed my mind, but John lived on the ground floor and a dozen people were seated at a picnic table ten feet away. They'd see the window open and notice something dropping to the ground. And these were people who would surely gather round and investigate. Then there I'd be with my unspeakably filthy hands, trying to explain that it wasn't mine. But why bother throwing it out the window if it wasn't mine? No one would have believed me except the person who had left it in the first place, and chances were pretty slim that the freak in question would suddenly step forward and own up to it. I was trapped.

"I'll be out in a second!"

I scrambled for a plunger and used the handle to break the turd into manageable pieces, all the while thinking that it wasn't fair, that this was technically not my job. Another flush and it still didn't go down. Come on, pal. Let's move it. While waiting for the tank to refill, I thought maybe I should wash my hair. It wasn't dirty, but I needed some excuse to cover the amount of time I was spending in the bathroom. Quick, I thought. Do something. By now the other guests were probably thinking I was the type of person who uses dinner parties as an opportunity to defecate and catch up on my reading.

"Here I come. I'm just washing up."

One more flush and it was all over. The thing was gone and out of my life. I opened the door, to find my friend Janet, who said, "Well, it's about time." And I was left thinking that the person who'd abandoned the huge turd had no problem with it, so why did I? Why the big deal? Had it been left there to teach me a lesson? Had a lesson been learned? Did it have anything to do with Easter? I resolved to put it all behind me, and then I stepped outside to begin examining the suspects.

Under construction?

To the unadvanced eye, this may seem like the urinals have been ripped out. But to the extremely advance eye, now you just go where they used to be. I mean, they still got that drain on the floor, right? Either way, you don't gotta flush here. Things'll take care of 'emselves... I'm sure of it.

Park pot.

Usually like any other public pot. Just in the park. And in it's own personal, smelly, dirty, graffiti-covered room. Sometimes you pay a cover charge to get into these digs. Nice.

Double-tank.

Two is always better than one, right? Maybe the top one was there first and they just added a new toilet bowl below. Or maybe the bottom one stopped working so they just added a new one up top.

Stop asking so many questions. At least it worked.

Trickster.

Bathroom, a little small and cramped. Also serves as storage room. Toilet, ordinary enough. Go ahead, do your business. Enjoy yourself, why don't you? Maybe whistle a little tune while you go.

Flush. Flush. Why won't you flush? You're pressing the button, but the button doesn't press. Finally, you try the opposite.

Whew. Magically all is whisked away to an amazing place where you no longer have to worry about it ever again. For a few hours at least.

Double-button.

Ah, the infamous double-button flush mechanism. It has intrigued and captivated. Even baffled and fooled scholars. For years.

Shrouded in mystery, rumors fly about this little device. Does the big button create a bigger flush? Or is this some kinda optical illusion where the little guy unleashes a fury of roaring, rushing aqua washing your business below?

After tedious testing, they both expel about the same damn amount of water. But that doesn't mean that they can't change their minds. Next time, our results might shock and surprise you. Unpredictable. Simply unpredictable. There are no sure bets here.

But we have found miniscule insight into the nature of this beast from a distant relative, believed to be of the same genus. The equal-sized button double-button flushing machine. And if you look real close, the button on the left has a larger drop of water than the button on the right. But we've yet to determine if these rules hold true for the non-equal-sized double-button flush mechanism, or if it even means anything here. In these early stages, all signs point to ancient plastic etchings being meaningless.

Seriously. No one's figured this one out yet.

Stomp flush.

I'm a big fan of this one. It's different and interesting. Plus it involves touching nothing that you wouldn't already touch. Stomps away.

Ship toilet.

More helpful than normal. Make sure waste goes down instead of up. No right. No left. Just down. Even in choppy waters.

Does it just get flushed out to sea? That'd be nifty.

Goal.

Celebrate Koelsch Karneval with a penalty shot.

This one was fun, especially when you've got a full bladder after a full day of Karneval drinking. See how many balls you knock through that net. I must've scored upwards of 30 or 40 goals.

My house in Cologne (when I studied aboard there) even had its own urinal right next to the normal toilet. That was probably the most fruitful period of my life. Or most convenient after Freibier* at Roonburg.

Maybe Cologne is just a special place in the world when it comes to urinals.

*Freibier = Unlimited Koelsch for 2 hours

Train toilet.

Supposedly you push this button on the opposite wall. Assuming that there will be some water to rinse out the bowl. In reality, it all just leaks out onto the tracks. You don't need to see the rest to know it's not all that tip-top.

Using public facilities.

Watch out for broken off toilet seats... or possibly there was never one there at all. Found commonly in public restrooms.

But it's not so different from the average American interstate rest stop.

One difference, I don't think I've seen toilet seat covers in Europe. Maybe it's just an American phenomenon and/or phobia. Bring yo' own stack if you gotta stay sanitary while here.

Also commonly included: insightful graffiti, witty poetry, simple vulgarity, or phone numbers. In this case, a simple how-to for uninformed users or newbies.

It was an itsy bitsy teenie weenie.

Here we have an example of the smaller water tank commonly found around here, on toilets that have tanks behind the seat that is.

Also, instead of a flusher handle like on most American toilets we have a large, plastic button on the top.

Also, garbage cans next to the toilet are common so you don't flush everything. I'll spare you the details.

How do you pronounce that?

Ask the French. Anyways, it's commonly found in most homes either next to or opposite the toilet.

What do you use it for, you ask? Cleanin' shit. Literally. I can't explain this one to you. You gotta figure it out for yourself.

Just make sure you read the instructions first before peeing in it or attempting to drink from it.

Clean hands.

Let's talk about how to use the sink for a minute. Sometimes it's just like every other day.

But sometimes there's a foot pedal protruding below the piping that you need to step on like an accelerator in a car. Don't stomp or it my spray everywhere. Just shift into first and easy down on the pedal.

Sometimes there's a rubber-looking button on the floor that you need to stand on. You can usually stomp here.

Either way there's probably no hot or cold control. That'd involved two pedals and more shifting. Instead, we just get cold.

Pop a squat.

All the toilets at my school are like this. Just a hole in the ground with some nifty foot grips... so you don't slip, we hope.

Not even the teachers' lavatories are spared any luxury. Each is contained within its own glorious stall with a wall light. One another note, frequently the bathroom light switch is located on the outside of the bathroom. No exception here. And often, they don't work at my school.

Nothing like going in a hole in the dark. At least it flushes powerfully, but still it's only a small step above a porta-potty because odors tend to linger in here.

Can you imagine always having to squat? But apparently this is the way it was meant to be.

If this really interests you, please, I beg you, click on the picture to read more about it.

Peeing in public.

A more sanitary and discrete update from my last post, although in theory quite similar. Those Dutch are so liberal and forward-thinking... nothing bothers them.

Poor man's pot.

A tried but true classic. The brick wall behind the parked car.

During nights of drinking in Parma, this is bound to happen. No lines. No piss covered floor.

No flush necessary.