WC

Before moving to Thailand I lived my life naively under the impression that there existed exactly two types of household toilets in the world. I say household here because I'm quite aware of Porta-Potties, Spot-A-Pots, camping latrines and all of those kinds of foul commodes but dragging them into this would simply confuse things, so household it is. These were the standard toilet and the Japanese super toilet.

The standard toilet is just that, standard. Chances are you have one in your house right now. It's got a seat, water, it flushes. It's a blue collar work horse, no frills. Shows up to do a job and does it countless times a day, the occasional clog can be chalked up to a day off. We all need one of those once and a while. There are some variations on the standard. Some people, probably your grandparents, might opt for a color shade that deviates from the standard white. Powder blue, light pink, apparently Easter colors translate nicely into shitters. Another favorite amongst the older set is the padded seat which I fully endorse for seasonal use in areas of the world where the temperature drops below freezing in the fall/winter months. In hotter climates you run the risk of your ass sticking to the seat like your back on a leather couch, wildly uncomfortable. A few other deviations are the wooden seat, gives a rustic feel a kind of a Thearouen back to nature sense and finally, the clear lid with sea shells and starfish encased inside, a beach house regular.

Actually, upon looking at this list in its entirety, it seems that pretty much all of these elements of flair are a hit exclusively with individuals over the age of 70.

The Japanese super toilet is something I have never had the pleasure of seeing or using in person. It has always been one of those things that only exists on the pages of Guinness Book or in the halls of Ripley's Believe It or Not! or one of those "Look at what the nutty Japanese are up to now!" local news segments that run on slow days, a segment that has been taken over in the past years by the "What the fuck is happening on this Japanese game show?" viral video and the "Seriously man, the Japanese are into some fucked up shit. It might be illegal to watch this," not quite viral but certainly viewed by a large swath of the male population ages 18-25 who have Internet access video.

From what I have seen the Japanese super toilet does everything short of serving you up fresh sashimi. Heated automatic lifting seat, massage features, wireless control panels, liquid crystal displays, George Jetson would feel right at home using one and if you're a lonely friendless sap you could probably have a conversation with it, it borders on intelligent life.

Here in Thailand however, the range of household toilets varies greatly, no better place than to start than the bottom.

The Squat Toilet: Just one evolutionary step above a hole in the ground, the squat toilet is basically a porcelain sink that has been set into the bathroom floor. For Westeners this thing is a nightmare. You open the door to a stall, see this and your heart immediately sinks. You realize you're probably going to have to tough it out. Hang on for the miserable ride until a more suitable option comes your direction. In an emergency situation a highly audible, "Fuck!" is very understandable followed by a chaotic undressing. The Costanza disrobing approach to using the squat is necessary unless you want your pants and shirt tails to get messy (Note: This always has been and will continue to be one of the top 2 greatest fears in my life). Prolonged use of this type of toilet leaves your knees feeling like you are a 350 pound lineman in need of dual braces or Jason Varitek around game 150 of the baseball season.

The Seat Toilet (No seat, no flush): Anyone who has blindly backed into a toilet only to find the seat up knows what a horrible mistake it is. One second your ready to get down to business, cozying in, the next you're being swallowed up by cold porcelain and your bare pale ass is practically touching the water as you let out shrieks of terror. For men it's got to be one of the most emasculating moments of all time. The seat is seen as extra unwanted baggage here and the only positive I can muster from the lack of it is that you avoid the surprisingly loud and always cringe inducing slam produced when the seat drops untouched onto the bowl reverberating against the tile surfaces of the bathroom.

The Seat Toilet (Seat, no flush): This is what I'm working with in my apartment. It's almost a complete toilet just conspicuously missing the tank and little chrome flusher. The logical question here is: How do you flush? Well next to my toilet is what appears to be a trash can filled with water (in places such as bus stations this trash can is replaced by a large square cement holding tank, a fitting swimming pool for a leprechaun), floating atop the water is a blue bowl. The bowl is one of those great deep bowls you could fit a close to half a box of cereal in, perfect for watching the early kick-off games on Sunday while you nosh away in your boxers. A shame that its fate is to spend all of eternity scooping my flush water, which is exactly what it does. Scoop the flush water, pour it into the toilet. Form is important here. A nice height, too high and you risk splashing, too low and the lack of force will keep you there all day and a middle of the bowl bulls-eye aim. This is the combination needed for a quick flush. My form has improved tremendously in the past few months after a few sock soaking mishaps, I fancy myself a bit of a sharpshooter at this point.

Misuse of both the seat toilet no seat and seat toilet seat has been so far reaching that many bathrooms, especially bus bathrooms, use these signs to clarify exactly how it works. It is utterly unfathomable to me that one person would attempt this gargoyle maneuver on a cramped unstable bus toilet let alone enough people to warrant signs being produced.