It’s been over six months, and I finally feel like I can share this story outside of my immediate family.
My name is Vashon and I was assaulted… by a toilet.
I was on a family road trip when the attack occurred. But, I digress… let me explain how something as innocent as a toilet can go bad so quickly.
It all started out tame enough. I was on the first leg of a long road trip with my family unit, Ron the best husband and our two teenage sons, Ty and Jack. After several hours on the road, it was approaching the time to stop for a much-needed restroom break. I had seen a couple of billboards along our route that mentioned a truck stop in Harrisonville, MO. What caught my eye was how the billboards mentioned “Mom Approved” restrooms. Finding clean gas station restrooms is definitely a perk for me!
As we approached Harrisonville, we easily located the tidy looking Sapp Bros. truck stop and parked.
The guys headed towards the mens’ restroom and I spotted the bright “Mom approved” womens’ restroom. I had to admit it was very inviting!
I happily entered and chose a nice, clean stall.
Normally, entering a restroom stall would not be something to write about. Frankly, it seems kind of crass to continue past this part of the story. However, I’m afraid I must, because this is where everything happened.
It started innocently enough. I sat down to do my business. While sitting there, I noticed that this was not an ordinary toilet. This toilet had an entire electronic panel of buttons on the side of the bowl.
So, as I sat there doing my business, I began to examine the panel of buttons. It appeared that this toilet had some fancy, modern bidet features.
Each button had a symbol that comically resembled different body parts. Printed above each one was a word describing its function.
• Posterior
• Feminine
• Exclusive
• Dry
• Massage
• Nozzle position
• Water pressure
• Dry Temp
• Water temp
• Seat temp
• Nozzle clean
• Child mode
• Power save
• Stop
Wow… I had no idea there were so many things a bidet could do! The more I examined the buttons, the more curious I got.
{This was my first mistake.}
I suddenly thought, “I’ve never tried a bidet. This is a perfect opportunity to see what it’s like.”
{This was my second mistake.}
I examined the buttons again. Hmmmm… Where should I start?
I decided that a warm, gentle spray on the posterior might be nice.
{Third mistake.}
I checked that the water pressure was on what appeared to be the lowest setting. I then checked that the water temp was on what appeared to be warm.
I then pressed the Posterior button.
Chaos ensued!
An extremely cold blast of water shot into my rear end like a rocket!
I let out a muffled scream. I pressed the stop button. It didn’t stop. I pressed stop again a little harder. It didn’t stop.
Freezing cold water wouldn’t stop shooting into my “posterior!”
I tried adjusting the temperature. Nope. I tried adjusting the water pressure. Nada.
It kept shooting water! This was not a little gentle squirt of water. Think jet mode on a garden hose with the temperature of polar ice water. This was no picnic and I was in pain.
I thought about standing up to escape this torture. But, it dawned on me that if I did, the force of the water would spray the entire stall and drench me and my clothing.
I stayed put and endured.
In desperation I began hitting other buttons.
I hit the “exclusive” button hoping it would alleviate the amount of water spraying my posterior. This only narrowed the stream and increased the water pressure. I prayed that it wouldn’t rip me in half.
I hit the “feminine” button. When the sheer force of freezing water hit my lady bits I’m pretty sure I blacked out.
When I came to, in a final desperate attempt, I hit the fan button. All of a sudden, the water stopped. What felt like a high-powered hair dryer blasted my derrière with the heat of a thousand suns. I shot up off of the toilet seat like it was on fire and let out a scream.
A woman in a stall near me kindly asked “Are you okay?”
I replied, “I’m not sure. I think the toilet just assaulted me.”
She laughed, and said, that water pressure is pretty strong isn’t it?
Indeed. It definitely was.
My backside hurt. My legs were shaking. Some of my clothing was a little wet and I’m certain that I had scorch marks on my tail end.
I pulled myself together, washed my hands and put on some fresh lipstick. I slowly walked out to the car to greet my family.
As I approached the vehicle, my son, Ty asked, “Mom? Why are you walking like a bow-legged cowboy?”
“I’m not ready to talk about it right now.” I mumbled.
Sapp Brothers, If you’re reading this, I don’t blame you for the toilet assault. Although, it was a bit traumatic. Well… more than a bit. I think I officially have post traumatic stress from the incident. I choose to forgive you because you DO happen to have some of the cleanest truck stop restrooms I’ve ever seen. However, I do believe some instructions, a large warning label or removal may be in order for the bidets.
I regret, the story continues…
As luck would have it, on the way back from our road trip, we ended up stopping at the same Sapp Bros. truck stop.
As I entered the sparkling clean restroom, I hear a woman’s voice coming from the stall next to me.
I hear her Southern accent ask out loud, to no one in particular, “Is this a bidet?”
Before I can shout, “No! Don’t do it!”
I hear a scream followed by a string of curse words.
“Holy s***!”
“How do ya turn this d*** thang off!”
“What in tha f***ing h***!”
“Sh**! That’s hot!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle under my breath.
As I’m washing my hands, I see her come out of the stall with the same wild-eyed shocked look that I had with my first experience.
I gave her a knowing glance.
We washed our hands in silence. I know that neither one of us will EVER press ANY of those buttons again.