scheherazade_79
Steamy
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2003
- Posts
- 9,677
I'm bored, so I'm going to tell you a story.
Eight years ago I went backpacking around Europe with my Californian room mate. I call it backpacking but the truth is, I wussed out of the youth hosteling thing after just one week, and ended up staying in 4* hotels for the rest of the trip.
This story is about what happened when I was about to leave Barcelona, and it probably isn't fit for anyone of a squeamish disposition.
It was the middle of the afternoon and I was sitting in an underground train station with a pounding hangover. Our train was delayed by two hours, so I decided to spend that extra time rehydrating myself through the free water dispenser.
After a while, my bladder swelled up to the size of a basketball, so I headed off to the public toilets. Like most European conveniences, you had to pay for the privilege of not pissing on their door step. But I'd stopped feeling cross about it by that point, and just handed over my money as quickly as I could.
There were two cubicles, and when I opened the door of the first one I nearly passed out. It was literally heaped up to the seat with shit, and had a swarm of bluebottles buzzing over it. I closed the door very quickly, and looked at my only other option.
The problem with the other cubicle was that it didn't contain a toilet at all - just a small hole cut into a shallow well at the centre of the floor. I've never really mastered the art of peeing outdoors. When the urge strikes it turns into a Major Operation, involving the removal of all clothes, a wind speed of no more than 5mph and a yoga position that's only one step away in difficulty from levitation.
And even then I usually end up splashing my feet...
I considered corking it until the train came, but it had reached the point where it was difficult to move around unless my legs were crossed - and besides, I'd already paid.
When I walked into the cubicle, I realised that I wasn't the only woman who had problems aiming. The pitted floor was covered with small puddles and, just in case I'd forgotten the horror of the other cubicle, the phantom shitter had been at work here, too, leaving logs that weren't even close to the target.
There were no handrails, so I pulled my shorts and underwear down to my knees, stretched them out in front of the to their elastic potential, crouched slightly and hoped for the best. The female body was never designed for such pinpoint accuracy, but it turned out I did surprisingly well.
The only problem turned out to be the volume of liquid I needed to get rid of. By the third minute my thighs were beginning to shake from the strain. I took a couple of deep breaths and reminded myself that failure wasn't an option. The trickle was dying out. I'd be done in no time - my first toilet-free toilet trip without so much as a splash. Victory was in sight - for all of about twenty seconds, when something suddenly gave way in my knee.
It was excruciating. I recoiled from the pain and suddenly found myself falling backwards, shuffling my feet as quickly as I could to keep up with the momentum and stop myself falling into the cesspool.
I should have been relieved when my back slammed against the back wall, but unfortunately I bounced and found myself hurtling forwards this time.
You're probably all waiting for me to tell you that I fell - but I didn't
I managed to catch hold of the coat hook and swing from that for a few seconds while I regained my footing.
It was a disturbing experience.
Eight years ago I went backpacking around Europe with my Californian room mate. I call it backpacking but the truth is, I wussed out of the youth hosteling thing after just one week, and ended up staying in 4* hotels for the rest of the trip.
This story is about what happened when I was about to leave Barcelona, and it probably isn't fit for anyone of a squeamish disposition.
It was the middle of the afternoon and I was sitting in an underground train station with a pounding hangover. Our train was delayed by two hours, so I decided to spend that extra time rehydrating myself through the free water dispenser.
After a while, my bladder swelled up to the size of a basketball, so I headed off to the public toilets. Like most European conveniences, you had to pay for the privilege of not pissing on their door step. But I'd stopped feeling cross about it by that point, and just handed over my money as quickly as I could.
There were two cubicles, and when I opened the door of the first one I nearly passed out. It was literally heaped up to the seat with shit, and had a swarm of bluebottles buzzing over it. I closed the door very quickly, and looked at my only other option.
The problem with the other cubicle was that it didn't contain a toilet at all - just a small hole cut into a shallow well at the centre of the floor. I've never really mastered the art of peeing outdoors. When the urge strikes it turns into a Major Operation, involving the removal of all clothes, a wind speed of no more than 5mph and a yoga position that's only one step away in difficulty from levitation.
And even then I usually end up splashing my feet...
I considered corking it until the train came, but it had reached the point where it was difficult to move around unless my legs were crossed - and besides, I'd already paid.
When I walked into the cubicle, I realised that I wasn't the only woman who had problems aiming. The pitted floor was covered with small puddles and, just in case I'd forgotten the horror of the other cubicle, the phantom shitter had been at work here, too, leaving logs that weren't even close to the target.
There were no handrails, so I pulled my shorts and underwear down to my knees, stretched them out in front of the to their elastic potential, crouched slightly and hoped for the best. The female body was never designed for such pinpoint accuracy, but it turned out I did surprisingly well.
The only problem turned out to be the volume of liquid I needed to get rid of. By the third minute my thighs were beginning to shake from the strain. I took a couple of deep breaths and reminded myself that failure wasn't an option. The trickle was dying out. I'd be done in no time - my first toilet-free toilet trip without so much as a splash. Victory was in sight - for all of about twenty seconds, when something suddenly gave way in my knee.
It was excruciating. I recoiled from the pain and suddenly found myself falling backwards, shuffling my feet as quickly as I could to keep up with the momentum and stop myself falling into the cesspool.
I should have been relieved when my back slammed against the back wall, but unfortunately I bounced and found myself hurtling forwards this time.
You're probably all waiting for me to tell you that I fell - but I didn't
I managed to catch hold of the coat hook and swing from that for a few seconds while I regained my footing.It was a disturbing experience.
)
