Unnecessary Luxuries

I knew it was no ordinary toilet when it lifted its lid to greet me when I entered the cosy, little cubicle that housed my toilet in the Grand Hotel Kempinski. I was a bit startled by the lid as it whizzed noisily into a vertical position. 

Then I noticed a sheet of comprehensive instructions affixed to the upturned lid. "This can't be good," I thought, "If one must engage in a reading exercise before one can use the toilet."

IMPROPER USE OF HEATED TOILET SEAT CAN RESULT IN A LOW-GRADE BURN. This warning did not reassure me. First, I did not relish the possibility of having my toilet inflict injury upon me. Then my imagination got the better of me, wondering what might constitute improper use. What if I have never been a proper toilet seat user in my life and didn't realize my dangerous ignorance? That could get me a low-grade burn before I realized it. And then how would I explain to the medic how I had gotten this low-grade burn on such an awkward region of my body? I think it is the first time in my life, since I was two, that using a toilet was making me a little apprehensive.  

Seeing I had no other alternatives in sight, I proceeded cautiously. Now if it were Moscow in January, I would be excited to seat myself on this contraption, but in the sweltering tropics of Jakarta, I think it would have been refreshing to sit upon a refrigerated toilet seat. I wonder which marketing wizard of the Hotel Kempinski chain thought that the benefit of sizzling toilets in Indonesia would justify such an expense?

Luckily for me, I managed to avoid serious injury, though it was a bit like taking care of business while sitting on an electric heating pad.  Flushing the toilet was also a challenge, as I had to navigate a keyboard, before deciding what to do. I wondered what would happen if I pressed the button that said "pressure" but was not adventurous enough to experiment. Nor was I curious enough to push the "front cleansing" or "rear cleansing" button, as I figured I would take responsibility for that myself. Thank goodness there was a phone, placed directly above the toilet keyboard, as it was reassuring to know that there was a Toilet Rescue Specialist available at the Front Desk for emergency calls. 

I found the basic flush button and hurried out of the toilet room without delay; I could hear the toilet noisly shutting its lid as I departed and I was grateful that I did not get trapped in its descending jaws. My experience almost made me nostalgic for the raw starkness of Kyrgyzstan where, if you were traveling on one of the empty, desolate stretches of the road from Naryn to Bishkek, not only wouldn't you have to worry about low-grade burns, but you would be treated to the thrilling adventure of using a toilet that was literally nothing more than a surprisingly shallow hole in the freezing, rocky ground.