[ARCHIVED THREAD] - German Toilets (Page 1 of 2)
Posted: 12/19/2003 1:06:05 PM EDT
|
Whenever folks who have lived or traveled in Germany gather for a beer, sooner or later one subject is sure to rear its ugly head: what is the deal with those toilets? German toilets are quite extraordinary. Other European toilets - well, the ones that aren't merely holes in the floor - work much like their North American cousins. They are shaped a little differently, but the basic principle is the same: the excrement either lands directly in the water or it slides down a steep slope into the water, before being flushed away. Simple, effective and clean. See?  "Normal" toilet Not so the German toilet. The excrement lands on a bone-dry horizontal shelf, mere inches beneath one's posterior. Repeated flushings are required to slide the ordure off the shelf into a small water-filled hole, from which it hopefully disappears. See?  German toilet I do not understand the purpose of this toilet. It does not save water - you must flush it eight or ten times to remove every last scrape and smear. It is not hygienic - the smell is ungodly. The only conceivable explanation is that Germans love to inspect their stool, so the German toilet of necessity features a built-in stool inspection shelf. I wouldn't be surprised if the more expensive models include a digital scale: "Mein Gott, zwei kilogram!" exclaims Günter, joyful and relieved. Further research has revealed that the German toilet is in fact designed to facilitate stool examination. This is a wise, healthy practice, argue Germans, a person's best defence against intestinal disease, water-borne parasites or worm-riddled, undercooked pork sausage. While this made perfectly good sense around 1900, thanks to improvements in public health the whole shelf business should have become obsolete shortly after World War II. Germans, however, see nothing amiss. They actually like their toilets. Some even dislike North American toilets. You splash yourself, they claim. I don't think this is possible. I've never splashed myself sitting on the toilet. For the wave to reach one's bottom, one would need to eject a hefty pellet at tremendous velocity. I think they're making that up. We've had innumerable bad experiences with German toilets. In Berlin, we lived on an upper floor and the water pressure was too weak to push a healthy-sized log off the shelf. After a few minutes' fruitless flushing you'd be forced to grab a wad of toilet paper and give the horrid thing an encouraging nudge. Then followed a lengthy bout of brushing and cleaning to remove the skid marks from the porcelain. At the other extreme, in Munich we lived in a basement suite where the water pressure was too high. Worse, the shelf was actually slightly concave, forming a shallow bowl. The first time I flushed the toilet the water came rushing through so forcefully that a small chunk of poo launched off the lip and shot out over the floor. After that we always held the lid down when we flushed. I swore you could feel a kick as the turd ricoched off the underside. The German toilet's shortcomings are not limited exclusively to Number Twos. It is almost impossible for males to urinate while standing without soaking the bathroom. Urine sprays everywhere. There is a technique, but is tricky and requires a certain degree of penile agility: bestride the toilet and direct the stream vertically down into the hole at the front of the shelf. If you are sufficiently flexible and accurate, it's relatively clean, though it makes one hell of a noise. The alternative, of course, is to pee sitting down - the dreaded Sitzpinkel. Herein lies the source of much gender conflict, for German women have become increasingly militant in their efforts to encourage or enforce the Sitzpinkel Rule. It's not uncommon to see little stickers on the underside of toilet lids, reminders to less civilized males that they really need to embrace their feminine side and sit the hell down.  An American friend was once at a party where, on his way to the bathroom, he was accosted by the hostess who demanded loudly in front of the other guests that he not pee standing up. The male counter-reaction has been predictably lame, only a few sad jokes here and there. Me, I've made promises, I've tried to be good, but somehow the instinct not to Sitzpinkel runs very deep. I just try not to spray. |
|
Wow, you learn something new every day.I had no idea the Germans had weird toilets. Also, I thought the sitzpinkel thing was some sort of feminazi movement; that peeing while standing up was some sort of expression of patriarchal dominance. Honestly, that was how it was explained in a newspaper article I read about it. |
|
Wow..you are right about the toilets. A British friend of mine told me it was so you could poke around with a stick and examine your crap, but I thought he was just making fun of the Germans. Of course I guess it could have come in handy the time I swallowed a crown on my tooth. On second thought.....nah forget it. |
|
[lol] I've lived in germany for close to 11 years...I only noticed the "shelf" whenever I went to my aunts house in Koeln. I didn't pay much attention, as I had the privilige to utilize a many of different toilets in my lifetime. (perticularly the hole in the floor type) I'll pay closer attention to the self the next time I go. But this could be an explaination to those german scheisse videos. I believe "Deutsche sind sehr stolz auf ihre scheisse, und sie moegen es zu bewundern..." |
|
In college, I had a German roomate. He had never seen an American toilet before arriving here. He explained to me how he liked the fact that dumps go into the water and you don't have to deal with the smell while you finish your business. I had never heard of the shelf until he moved in with me. I went to Germany as a kid, but I did not leave base much and never had to go #2 in a public toilet. Either that or I just don't remember them. |
|
I'm literally crying in here.. [lol] [lol] Truth is I have used some of those before in here (didn't know they were a German design) and it's really true, either you see your "newborn" in there, before trying to flush it or you spray all the bathroom if you don't aim for the small part where you can actually see the water.... [:O] NsB |
|
The most comfortable toilet I ever sat on was in Norway. A simple stainless steel affair, but after 4 weeks of cold weather training in the Marines, it was heaven cause the stall had a little heater in it. I literally fell asleep on the shitter because warmth had become foreign to me. That damn artic ribbon was my most treasured as it represented the most miserable time I ever had. |
|
I liked the way German houses put the throne in its own room, separate from the basin and shower/tub. In retrospect, I guess it was a necessity since their toilets are equipped with [i]UntersuchungsStellen[/i] (examination stations) that tend to maximize Fartvergnuegung. On a humorous side note, I had a little placard on the wall opposite the throne in my apartment that read: [i]Freuh Dich nicht zu frueh. Das dicke Ende kommt noch![/i] Translation: Don't rejoice too soon. The thick end (German for worst part) is yet to come! |
|
Quoted: Interesting! I like that French ass washing toilet. I want one of these toilets [url]www.washlet.com/jasmin.asp[/url] Convenient Remote Control with Large LCD Panel • Automatic Air Purifier • Warm Air Dryer • Heated SoftClose Seat with Temperature Control • Gentle, Aerated Warm Water come one it even blow drys your ass. |
|
You splash yourself, they claim. I don't think this is possible. I've never splashed myself sitting on the toilet. For the wave to reach one's bottom, one would need to eject a hefty pellet at tremendous velocity. LOL Ð You've never given yourself a "rebound enema"? Must have something to do with your drop angle... Personally, I've mastered the "dump and jump" reflex Ð Just a few milliseconds after the release, I'm already airborne! |
|
aahahaha ahahaha i'm cryin' here, that post was great. yeah i hate the german toilets, luckily i didn't have to hassle with them long.. All the toilets I used in Europe outside of Deutschland were N. American style (in Czech Republic, Austria, and Switzerland) EXCEPT the awful, awful two toilets in Italy which were just a freaking hole in the ground. Took me forever to figure out how to use it. I figured if I squatted then if it was a long poo my thighs might get tired, I might lose my balance, and fall backward onto my own poo. I'd gladly take the German Untersuchungsklo over a porcelain hole in the ground! James |
|
A man traveling by plane and in urgent need to use the men's room is nervously tapping his foot on the floor of the aircraft. Each time he tried the men’s' room door, it was "OCCUPIED". The stewardess, aware of his predicament suggested that he go ahead and use the Ladies room, but cautioned him against using any of the buttons inside. The Buttons were marked "WW, WA, PP, and ATR". He let his curiosity get the best of him and decided to try the buttons anyway. He carefully pressed the first button marked "WW" and immediately warm water sprayed all over his entire bottom. He thought, "WOW, the women really have it made!" Still curious, he pressed the button marked "WA" and a gentle breeze of warm air quickly dried his hind quarters. He thought that was out of this world! The Button marked "PP" yielded a large powder puff which delicately applied a soft talc to his rear. Well, naturally he couldn't resist the last button marked "ATR". When he woke up in the hospital he panicked and buzzed for the nurse. When she appeared , he cried out, "what happened to me?! The last thing I remember is I was in the ladies room on a business trip!" The nurse replied, "Yes you were having a great time until you pressed the "ATR" button which stands for Automatic Tampon Remover... By the way, your penis is under your pillow." |
|
Quoted: You splash yourself, they claim. I don't think this is possible. I've never splashed myself sitting on the toilet. For the wave to reach one's bottom, one would need to eject a hefty pellet at tremendous velocity. I think they're making that up. I don't remember these German toilets (it's been a while since I lived in Germany, and I was pretty young then), but I think I'd rather get a splashed butt than to have my stool get ever closer to my bum. |
|
It's not uncommon to see little stickers on the underside of toilet lids, reminders to less civilized males that they really need to embrace their feminine side and sit the hell down. [size=3]Got sink?[/size=3] Sorry, grew up going to watch football at the Vet in Philly. Teaches you the value of trash cans and sinks when you [u]really[/u] have to go. |
|
Kieth_J You beat me to it.. [:)] Scott Anderson the author lives in Toronto Canada... and lived in Berlin for a time... [url]http://www.spies.com/[/url] [url]http://www.spies.com/~scott/[/url] Scott Anderson's Journal Sites In a desperate attempt to reduce my daily spam intake (one can only receive so many "guaranteed penis enlargement!" emails before feeling inadequate) I closed the old [email protected] email address. My beloved [email protected] address became a subscription service to which I did not wish to subscribe. So for now I've just set up [email protected] for all jounal-related enquiries. Thank you for your patience. |
|
Some even dislike North American toilets. You splash yourself, they claim. I don't think this is possible. I've never splashed myself sitting on the toilet. For the wave to reach one's bottom, one would need to eject a hefty pellet at tremendous velocity. I think they're making that up. The German toilet's shortcomings are not limited exclusively to Number Twos. It is almost impossible for males to urinate while standing without soaking the bathroom. Urine sprays everywhere. There is a technique, but is tricky and requires a certain degree of penile agility: bestride the toilet and direct the stream vertically down into the hole at the front of the shelf. If you are sufficiently flexible and accurate, it's relatively clean, though it makes one hell of a noise. The alternative, of course, is to pee sitting down - the dreaded Sitzpinkel. Herein lies the source of much gender conflict, for German women have become increasingly militant in their efforts to encourage or enforce the Sitzpinkel Rule. It's not uncommon to see little stickers on the underside of toilet lids, reminders to less civilized males that they really need to embrace their feminine side and sit the hell down. I just try not to spray. This does not address certain issues. Like after a long night of drinking, eating bad mexican food or simply having a case of Montezuma's Revenge. Talk about the Splash factor sheesh. [puke] (which by the way creates another splash factor, when hugging the porcelin God.) |
|
Quoted: I lived in a german hotel for 4 months last year on an extended business trip. It took me all of 2 or 3 days to figure this out... drop a couple piece of toilet paper on the "shelf" before getting down to business. flush and wave bye-bye to the poo. HTH True, so very true! I lived in Germany for 13 years. If you don't "prep" the shelf you better hope you or your host has a toilet brush!!!!!!! But my favorite was going into a public restroom at a Gasthaus or the Bahnhof and pissin on the ceramic tiled wall! It's also handy to be able to lean on the wall while pissin, for those times when your "a bisschen tipsy"! |
|
Quoted: Quoted: Everyone knows the Cadillac of toilets is Al Bundy's "Ferguson". GunLvr ba-WOOSH! AAAH the Ferguson. Now that's a mans toilet. The toilets of today aren't even worthy of the name. They come in designer colors and make an almost apologetic sound. Not the Ferguson, it only comes in white. It says "I'm a toilet, come up and give me your beat shot. Man I love that episode. |
|
Quoted: I lived in a german hotel for 4 months last year on an extended business trip. It took me all of 2 or 3 days to figure this out... drop a couple piece of toilet paper on the "shelf" before getting down to business. flush and wave bye-bye to the poo. HTH I remember getting that advice as a kid and student in Germany, too. Otherwise, just get used to working with the Klobürste (toilet brush) to get things nice and clean under the Brille (toilet seat) (We used to make lots of kiddie jokes about eyeglasses and toilet seats, both of which use the same word in German...) But to tell you the truth, I got so used to going from country to country when I was a kid (dad was in the AF) that I just accepted the differences in toilet culture, and didn't make a big stink (no pun intended) about it. A toilet was a toilet to me- it did the job, I got used to it, it was fine. I did find Germans do have a fascination with all things fecal though- various German friends explained that it was a remnant of their agricultural past. To this day, the odor of manure in country air is considered heathy to breathe by a lot of Germans.... The only bad toilet/bathroom is a filthy one. To this day, the first thing I do when I go into any kind of restaurant is to check out the bathrooms- if they're filthy, then there's [b]no way[/b] I'm going to touch their food. Who knows where it's been.....[%|][:X*] |
|
Not to steal the thread, but this reminds me of another toilet story. Can't remember where I found this gem on the web: "The Ryan's Steak House Story This classic tale has been around for years, but it deserves a place on PWC. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy theClown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions. I began "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer. I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precidence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. -continued- |
|
Ryan Steakhouse story Part II " It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistancy of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initally hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occured, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon. Now, back to the vomit... While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit wasspread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no fucking toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign. About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to being the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explination as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left. The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose. Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way. When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door. The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten. Steve Crisp." |