I walked, no rushed in. My bladders were bursting, threatening to explode. None stared at me while I walked with an awkward gait to the loo. Perhaps they were being polite-everyone experienced UPS (urgent pee syndrome) at some point or the other.
The toilet seat was up and ready. I sat down heavily, not caring about the ensuing noise my steadily deflating bladder created. To my ears, it sounded like a gushing waterfall. And later, I didn’t stop to ask the person outside what it sounded like. As if the acoustics of my tsunamic pee were under my control.
I got up, finally relieved, and reached out for the flush. But it wasn’t there. I searched frantically-up, down and sideways, but I swear I couldn’t find it. I stood there, helplessly bewildered.
Then the commode roared, and the water spurted from its depths. I looked in to behold a swirling whirlpool gradually reduce to calm ripples.
As I stood transfixed, the toilet cooed and gurgled like a baby. Even let out a few burps. Perhaps it was chuckling in amusement, at my astonishment. I blinked, and walked out, this time unsteadily for different reasons.
I later found out that these flushes work on automatic sensor mechanisms.
Technology, I tell you. Taking a leak on everyone’s lives.
Via Daily Prompt: Chuckle