By the way... On the poll up in the top right, the word DIARY, should actually have read DAIRY.... I transposed the ‘A’ and the ‘I’.Why Dairy? I’m lactose intolerant (I’m actually intolerant of a lot of things, but that’ll be another blog one day – not a Rife-one), and I have a lot of funny adventures of me and bathrooms.
Yes, we’ve already heard about poor Jeff Seaman stepping in the Japanese commode (HERE), and how I was sitting on the john when my first ever earthquake hit (AND HERE), but I’ve got more. Would you like to hear one? Tough. You'll hear it and like it!
While many of these stories could involve me, myself and I, this one yet again stars the unfortunate, but incredibly good sport, Jeff.
Matt & Jeff (there’s that 1900’s joke rearing its head again – don’t know what I mean? Here, check this OUT.) and myself were on a trip, taking the local, slow —but always on time—JR (Japan Rail) train line. The why’s and the where’s escape me at this time, but needless to say, one of us (surprisingly not me) (and not Matthew—I’m unsure if he ever went to the can) had to go. Since we were at a major train station, there were plenty of washrooms available... Somewhere... We just couldn’t find them.
After getting many a blank stare from the local Nihonjin (Japanese folk), despite Matthew’s perfect Japanese (no slight here, folks... If he was a foot shorter and had black hair, he would easily have passed for Japanese), someone managed to point us in the right direction.
Standing outside while a belly-grabbing Jeff scrambled into the cavernous washroom, Matthew and I stood around and checked out the local wildlife – women... Because that’s what we liked to do. We were incredibly engrossed in our surrounds—Matthew doing better than me – I think he got two phone numbers (in Japan, the 555 phone number is real. Not). Anyhow, I guess we didn’t hear the calls for help from within the Men’s Room... And to be honest, even if we had, I’m pretty sure neither of us would have investigated... You know, for purely comedic reasons.
It turns out that our Jeff forgot the cardinal rule of using public washrooms--well, besides not stepping in the hole, like he did on our first adventure in Tokyo months previous--and that’s to always bring your own package of tissues, because Japan’s public washrooms do not have toilet paper.
Who knew that he’d forgotten it or used it up previously... I thought he just went in for a stand-up. Still, this sit-down could be stand-up comedy.
We found out later he had been calling for our help for about five minutes. I guess staring makes you deaf.
Realizing help wasn’t forthcoming, and with none of the Japanese folk occupying the stalls next to him knowing what the hell a gaijin’s open hand under the stall could possibly mean, Jeff bravely stood up from his squat, gingerly put his pants on, waddled over to the nearby trashcan in the washroom and plucked out an empty used wax-coated cup of Coca-Cola. A medium, I believe.
Tearing it in to strips, he wiped, forever realizing it wasn’t the Real Thing, but at least now he knew what Coca-Cola Japan’s idiotic message truly meant: “I feel Coke”. - See HERE.
Somewhere wondering why they don’t make toilet paper extra thick in the middle to stop one’s thumb from ripping the paper,
Andrew Joseph
PS - Title: From Queen, and while this song hit #1 in the US, it’s funnier to note it hit Number 2 on the R&B Billboard charts. R-d-r–r. Here's Queen out in the Prairies - CLICK.
PPS - the three frogs on the tissue pack = the three amigos!
