I lived in Germany from 1989 to 1991. One cold February night 1991, I was traveling by train to Düsseldorf. What business I had in Düsseldorf I can scarcely remember, but I will never forget the ordeal that I endured en-route.
I don't know what the passenger carriages of the Deutsche Bundesbahn (German National Railway) are like now, but back then, unless you were riding the Inter City Express, there were basically two types: a closed compartment coach and an open seat coach. Both looked like designs from the 50's or 60's. Quite comfortable for travel -- except for the shitters.
Train restrooms are rarely well cared for. They're dirty, stinky, and disease-ridden. On this trip, the toilets themselves were of the atmospheric-ejection type -- tapered steel cylinders with little, non-movable, ass-stabbing seats. There is no water in these toilets. Instead, your poop just flops down onto a little metal flap, and rides there until your business is done and you push the ejection handle. Then the flap opens up and your hapless turd drops out of the speeding train and hits the track at speeds of up to seventy M.P.H. Hopefully the crap is obliterated by the collision and doesn't stack up on the rail bed. If you're lucky, an anemic little trickle of water leaks down from the overhead reservoir to remove your paper work and skid marks.
Most train bathrooms have a little sign reminding you not to flush the toilet while the train is stopped at the station. This is so train passengers, waiting at the platform, don't have to avert their eyes while foul, moldering waste glares up at them from the track below. Each car has one toilet at one end of the car.
However, the worst aspect of the German mobile honey house is the asswipe. If there is buttpaper at all, it's the little squares -- the folded-over little pieces of Bible paper, the kind that have a low absorption coefficient and are prone to stinky-finger-breakthrough. There are few things in this life I can say I hate. These are one of them.
Having given all that history, I'll get back to the story. It was dark and cold. I had settled into the multi-stop trip, reading a book as my travel partner tried to sleep. The train was about one-fourth full and nobody was talking. I had been suppressing a loaf for about an hour. Every time it requested permission to land, the urge became more difficult to deny.
I'm not a Shameful Shitter, but must admit I disliked pooping in trains. Usually I would shop around from car to car to find the least repulsive restroom before unloading. This train had four cars and three of the bathrooms were out of order. The fourth was not fit for human use -- the window latch was broken and the window, which hinged at the bottom, hung open and would not stay closed. The little flush flap in the toilet had been broken off and the track roared past the open hole. There was an icy tornado blasting up through the toilet and out the gaping window.
I returned to my seat and complained bitterly of my situation. My buddy didn't care. After about an hour, I could hold on no longer, and retired to the torture chamber to loosen my load.
The torrent of Arctic air from the toilet could be stopped by holding the window closed, but the seat was too low to sit on the pot and reach the window. So I sat down with a vicious gale whistling through my crack and swirling about my shriveling genitalia. Somehow -- maybe this is a medical thing -- the cold wind prevented me from pushing mud. The urge was still there, but my pooper puckered so hard it almost sucked up my balls. Finally, after much effort, I was able to wrench open my quivering stink pipe and drop a couple of butt burritos. I was anxious to wipe because I didn't want the toilet draft to dry my smudge into a hard butt crust.
When done pooping, I took a little pee. The pee swirled up a bit and attempted to escape the toilet. I suppressed it by clamping my legs together to slow the draft. This should have warned of the mayhem to come, but by then I wasn't thinking clearly.
I frantically jerked about forty of the little toilet paper squares from the dispenser and wiped with them all in one big wad. When I threw the handful of tissues into the howling little toilet, something amazing happened. Have you ever seen a money machine on a TV game show? That glass booth full of dollar bills where a contestant stands and tries to grab money while it blows around inside the booth? That happened.
Only it wasn't money. I was trapped in a swirling vortex of my own ass shrapnel. I panicked and flailed wildly, trying to block or catch the little missiles of poop paper. Finally, the little papers were sucked up and out the window, and I slouched against the wall, dazed and panting. One little poop sticker clung to my sweater. I no longer cared. Standing to finish up, I just chucked the used buttwipe out the window. I returned to my seat, a changed man.
It's funny now, but it wasn't funny then. But it eventually had a good effect: ever since, I have been a fearless dumper, no matter the situation.
-- DungDaddy
