At the Choe’s house (click here if unfamiliar with the Choe’s), there is a bathroom with a
strange toilet in it. The toilet has an arm with about a dozen buttons,
some with a symbol (a butt with water spraying it, for example), others with a
word (“massage” and “dryer” are two options).
If you’re familiar with a bidet—pronounced “bid-A”—you know what I’m describing.
Bidets are common in parts of Asia and Europe. They’re like normal toilets,
only more high falutin. These toilets do all the dirty work for you, making toilet paper
superfluous. They shoot a refreshing stream of water to clean your nether
regions.
I had heard rumors of such a thing, but had never had the
chance to use one myself. So when I saw that the Choe’s owned a bidet, I knew I
had to take this opportunity.
Even so, months passed before I worked up the courage to try
it.
My fears were legion: Where is the water coming from? Is it
recycling the same water I just used for my business? What if the water
pressure is too much? Or too cold? Or unbearably hot? What if it makes a loud
noise, and all the Korean students turn and give “Mr. Josh” a knowing look when
he leaves the bathroom?
Finally, I overcame my fears and made the decision. It was
D-Day.
All through tutoring, I could feel my nerves winding tighter
and tighter. I worked through math problems with Bella, but in my mind all I
saw was THE BIDET. I was planning to excuse myself and go to the bathroom
before dinner, but chickened out at the last minute. I sat down at the dinner
table, almost too nervous to eat. Luckily, my lack of dexterity with chopsticks
meant each bite was tiny and easy to digest.
Dinner ended, and it was time for me to leave.
Now or never.
I walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and attended to
my fecal function. (Sometimes, euphemisms make things worse, not better. Sorry, ladies.)
Finished, I studied the panel beside me and ASSayed which
BUTTon to push. (See what I did there? I’m so clever with LANGuage.)
I decided to go with the straightforward choice of the butt
emblem with water spraying it. My finger hovered.
My biggest fear was that the spray would somehow gush out of
control. I lacked an instruction manual, which is fine for common household
items like blenders or toasters, but terrifying when your bum is involved. My bum was involved! I could imagine the
spray launching forth like a fire hydrant, ejecting me from my position on the porcelain,
soaking me head to toe. I imagined myself exiting the bathroom, dripping toilet
water onto the hardwood floor, Korean eyes cinching shut with disgust and laughter.
I lowered my finger, pressed the button.
…Nothing happened.
I pressed it again. Nothing. I pressed a different button.
Still nothing. All that anxiety and it
doesn’t even work! I thought.
I drove home. Before visiting the Choe’s, I had texted John
Mark, “I’m going to use the bidet today.” (Yup, that’s my life.) Now, I sent a
new text, embarrassed and defeated: “It didn’t work.”
In the wake of such failure, his reply was maddeningly
practical: “Did you wipe?”
Of course I wiped!
It’s not like, “Oh no! The bidet didn’t work! If only—OH GOD IF ONLY—there were some other option I
could use!”
Later, we discussed possible reasons why the bidet had
malfunctioned, and he suggested that it wasn’t plugged in. Which seems absurd,
but turned out to be true.
A few weeks later (I had drained my courage tank on the
first go, and had to refuel) I tried again. This time, I made sure it was
plugged in before ascending the throne.
When I was finished with my you-know-what (Is the vagueness
really necessary at this point? I pooped, okay?), I was ready. I pushed the
button. A stream of water immediately rinsed my hind quarters like a… river flowing
through an... upside down canyon…? (Metaphors are hard, yo!)
It was not scary. Neither was it the pinnacle of European
comforts. It was actually… remarkably unremarkable.
After fifteen seconds of washing, I thought, Surely I must be clean by now. After
thirty seconds, I thought, Seriously, who
has time for this? After a minute: Am
I stuck here forever?
Finally, I noticed the red STOP button, the most noticeable
button on the whole panel. I pressed it and, with a single wipe to dry myself,
I was done.
I had conquered the bidet.
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