Context of rant: I am in USA. Amreeka. States. Recently dearly departed from beloved motherland. Perhaps I'm a tad tipsy, perhaps gastronomically satisfied, or perhaps just answering the random daily call. I waltz into the public restroom, nod appreciatively at the smooth chrome latch on the toilet door, the sparkling white tile work, and god-golly-gosh even the floors are dry. This is a toilet hand crafted in heaven I tell you. The porcelain winks at me and I obediently sit. The time has come, and I approach with trust; opening heart and sphincter to the world.
Upon completion of said project I reach back to the wall on my right, pat around for a bit, and encounter nothing but tile. Ah, everything is flipped here in Oosaa I think to myself, see they even drive on the right (alias wrong) side of the road. I reach backward to my left smiling at my own stupidity. Still nothing!
My hand expects to grasp a nozzle. With one smooth motion sling the flexible hose off the wall-hook and squeeze the familiar chrome contraption. A cool smooth jet of fresh water to do the needful in ridding me once and for all of my fecal sins. But all I get is cold white flat tile... Horrified, I whip my head around first left then right and all I see is the lonely toilet paper roll, like a thorn stuck in my side.
I feel so vulnerable, tender, violated, with my pants around my ankles, bony knees shivering in the night. Where the BLOODY HELL is my bum washer??!!!
Atif: "Boss, water tank is on 30th floor of Utility Building and bathroom is in basement... little too much pressure in the friggin' bum washer ok?!"
Sid: "Got to half squeeze, brother, got to half squeeze"