So, I walk into a small dark stall and close a short, pale blue door behind me. The floor is grimy and wet under my flip flops. I take a breath in of humid, musty air. It’s not surprising because the only ventilation in this room is from a long narrow window that’s cracked open to allow some fresh air in. It’s also the only source of light. I take a look at my surroundings and I don’t know if I can do this. I’m in my mid 30’s, but I’ve never experienced anything like this. Directly in front of me at my knees is a toilet. It’s not like the ones I’m used to, you know, white shiny porcelain, comfortable, elongated seat, clean. No, this toilet looks more like a gateway to hell. I just want to turn around and run, but I’m stopped in my tracks by this sharp pain in my stomach. I know that there’s no escaping this…
I’m about to use a public restroom in the Philippines.
I’ve always had problems with using public bathrooms. It’s not just the Philippines. I only use them when it’s absolutely necessary. I know that it’s just a normal bodily function and everyone does it, but I’ve always been embarrassed about it. Like, in grade 3, I remember sitting in a stall and hearing another kid come in, and for some reason, I lifted my feet above the stall door, so that they couldn’t tell that I was sitting down. I guess I didn’t want people to see my shoes and then somehow recognize them later and know my shame.
In high school, I was severely dehydrated because I didn’t want to drink water for fear of having to go to the bathroom. On those days that I gave in to the temptation of H2O, it was a race to get home to the friendly confines of my own bathroom.
I don’t understand how some people can be so at ease about using public bathrooms! My younger sister won’t hesitate to take a shit in a public bathroom. She sees no issue with it at all. She’ll even do it at work. In the middle of the day. Her co-workers are fully aware of her “me-time” because she tells them. No shame whatsoever.
I wish I had that kind of confidence. The confidence to feel comfortable no matter where I am. My problem is that I’ve grown too accustomed to the finer things in life. I never went camping as a kid. I’ve become soft. I once checked into a 4-star hotel, walked into the room, felt like it wasn’t 4-star enough, then left and booked another 4-star hotel. I won’t wear Target brand clothing.
And now I’m about to sit down on a toilet seat that I’m pretty sure has a disease on it. How did I get here?
I was on a sightseeing tour with my family at Mines View Park in Bagiuo City, Philippines. We ate a big lunch at an “All-you-can-eat” restaurant followed by a trip to a scenic overlook that had views of a beautiful luscious green valley. As I stood there, admiring the landscape, my calm, even stoic demeanor, hid the horrors that were going on in my body. I turned to my uncle and said, “Do you know if there’s a bathroom around here?”
(Filipino Accent) “Oh, you need to go? Ok, Ok….Yeah, but don’t go to da public one, it’s better to go to a comport room.”
You see, in the Philippines, I learned that day that there are two types of public restrooms. There’s the “public restroom” where just anyone can go, and then there’s what they call, “The comfort room,” which is also a public restroom, but slightly better because you have to pay to use it.
The next 10 minutes was just a frantic search to find a “comfort room.” Sweat beads started forming on my head, sharp contractions hit me every 2 minutes. I spotted a building in the distance and could see the word “Comfort Room” painted in big red letters. I ran to it like I was sprinting to a finish line. I entered the building. It was like a lobby in an office. To the left was an opening with an M on top and to the right was another opening with a W and right in the center of the room was a small glass display case and a short, slender woman standing behind it.
(Filipino Accent) “Hello, Sir!”
I guess she was the cashier. The keeper of the comfort room. You couldn’t use the restroom unless you paid her first.
She couldn’t have been more than 25 years old. Short brown hair, brown eyes, wearing a yellow golf shirt and beige shorts. She actually seemed happy to be there, which surprised me because that’s a job that I don’t think just anyone can do. Imagine having to spend 9 hours a day just listening to people go to the bathroom? I don’t know what the shifts are like in a comfort room, but I hope, for her sake, she gets a few 15-minute breaks. She just seemed genuinely eager to make sure my bathroom experience was the best it could be.
I said quickly, “Hello, I’d like to use the bathroom.”
“No problem sir, that will be five pesos please!”
I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out a 5 peso bill and handed it to her. I must have looked crazy because by this time the sweat coming off my forehead was just dripping. I gave her the money and turned to move towards the bathroom, but before I could take a couple of steps, she stopped me again.
“Excuse me, sir! Don’t you need tissue? It’s 1 peso per tissue!”
What the Fuck? This comfort room just got very uncomfortable.
I already hate using public restrooms. Now, I got to deal with this shit (no pun intended). That is just something you never hear in North America. In North America, if you use a public restroom they just give you unlimited usage of tissue…for free! No questions asked.
But in the comfort room in the Philippines, I need to buy tissue.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever asked yourself how much tissue you need when using a bathroom and how much it costs, but I was about to find out.
I’m sweating.
Contractions, now only 10 seconds apart.
Moments from disaster.
The only thing between me and a toilet was a tissue transaction.
I don’t know how to answer because I’m embarrassed.
Scenarios run through my mind…
“If I buy too much tissue, she’s definitely going to know that I’m taking a huge shit,” but if I buy too little tissue, then what happens if I run out, and need more tissue?!! Will I have to call her to come in so I can buy more tissue? Then what? She’ll definitely know I’m taking a shit!”
She interrupts my anxiety thoughts, “Sir?”
I just reach into my pocket and pull out whatever bill I have. It’s 10 pesos and I shove it in her hand,
“Here! Give me as much as that will pay for!”
She counts out 10 squares of toilet paper, one by one as a contraction hits.
“…9…10!” and just as I turn around, she stops me again and says,
“Excuse me, sir! I need to give you a receipt!”
She proceeded to handwrite a receipt for this tissue purchase. She wrote “10 squares – 10 pesos, in pencil, on a rectangular piece of yellow paper. In my mind, I was yelling, “Forget it! I don’t care!” It’s not like I’m going to write this purchase off as a business expense. but she was so nice to me, that I just politely waited until she gave it to me.
“Thank you, enjoy!”
At last, I run to the doorway with the M above it and go in.
I ignore that the bathroom looks like a horror film and enter the first stall. Before I sit down, I lay down tissue on the seat because there’s no way I’m allowing skin to seat contact. 5 pesos worth of tissue gone within the first 5 seconds. This is a nightmare.
I sit down, close my eyes, pray to god no one else comes into this bathroom, and expel the demons.
The discomfort fades away and it’s just me in a comfort room doing what humans do. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t in a 4-star hotel, or a bathroom with shiny porcelain toilets, or clean floors. What mattered was that I had the courage to face my fears and do the thing I had to do.
I stood up, flushed and left that comfort room a new man.
And if you’re wondering if 5 pesos worth of tissue was enough.
All I can say is, “Thank God I waited for that receipt.”
Thank you.