It’s said that those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it. I don’t know what those who ignore toilet seat history are doomed to, exactly, but I’m quickly finding out. And it’s not pretty.
Here’s the thing.
My wife and I have lived in our condo for four years, give or take a blizzard season. The place has two bathrooms, and the toilet in each is fitted with a No-Drop Ev’r-Quiet Easy-Lower Seat™.
I have no idea whether that’s the actual name of the thing, of course. But seeing as how it’s a toilet seat, and to sell toilet seats you probably need some kind of flashy creative verbiage, and that whoever bought the things probably saw them in a late-night infomercial or something, it’s a pretty safe bet that I’m close.
(Or that the actual name is worse. Like the “Slo-Commode”. Or the “Whisper Shitter”. I weep.)
The point is, you can’t accidentally drop the lids or the seats on these things. If you tap the back of the seat, it glides slowly and gently down to the bowl, without any unnecessary drama or porcelain banging involved. It’s a convenience. A middle-class luxury. A toilet that’s seen, but never heard.
(Well. Except after “Taco Night”, maybe.)
So these fancy terlet seats are a pretty nice thing. And, like all nice things, they have a problem. Namely, one gets used to them. One grows accustomed to one’s nice thing, and then when one is in a situation without the nice thing, one’s usual habits turn one into a rude and boorish monster who makes all the neighbors and maybe damages a bathroom fixture or two.
I know. It happened to me last year.
In that instance, I was a guest in someone else’s house. A fine house, a very nice house — but not a house equipped with space-age “Serene Latrine” technology.
(Okay, I’m taking credit for that one. “Serene Latrine” isn’t half-bad.)
So, I banged the toilet in the middle of the night and woke people up, and go read the old post if you want all the details. I’m not obligated to relive all of my public humiliations year after year.
I save that shit for Christmas with the in-laws, thank you very much.
“You don’t need to know who was doing what in there, or if it was Next-Taco Morning or what kind of horseplay might have been involved. Or why a horse was in the bathroom in the first place.”
Anyway, that’s the history. Zoom forward to last week, when we suddenly needed to replace the toilet seat in our guest bathroom.
I’m not going to tell you why, exactly, we needed to replace it. That’s private. You don’t need to know who was doing what in there, or if it was Next-Taco Morning or what kind of horseplay might have been involved. Or why a horse was in the bathroom in the first place.
Let’s just say that the old toilet seat was… indisposed, and so we ordered and fitted a replacement. A replacement, it turns out, that is also not fitted with a Crashless Crapper Cap.
(Nah. The “latrine” thing was better. Ah well.)
And this is where the “ignoring history” bit comes in. Because I’ve used that toilet a half dozen times since we put the new seat on. And every time, when I finished I ever-so-gently tapped the top of the lid to close it. Not thinking, just force of habit. And history-ignorant.
So far, I’ve woken up my wife, made the neighbors’ baby cry, set off a nearby car alarm and possibly perforated an eardrum. Which is not cool. I mean, I’ve only done two of those things in a bathroom before this whole seat debacle.
Well. Maybe three. But in my defense, that kid was always whining about something. It probably had colic.
Anyway, I’ve got to find some way to muffle this seat banging, before I do any real damage. Or we have to buy another one, with the Languid Lid feature. Otherwise, I’m going to lose my bathroom privileges altogether.
And Taco Night is just around the corner. Yeeks.Permalink | No Comments