Dear, Automatic Flushing Toilet

Dear Automatic Flushing Toilet,

I do believe technology has come along far enough at this point that you are no longer necessary. From your very inception, you have been flawed, yet there you proudly flush in airports, movie theaters, why even Tulsa's Pei Wei restaurant.

As I first walk into your less than cordial stall, I am always greeted by the excrement of the person before me. Why can you never do your job on time? We are both aware that you come specially equipped with a sensor. You should know very well when the ass arises from the seat. Why hold out? When you finally do decide to flush, you do so a good 3 or 4 times consecutively, so I know the dramatic pause is hardly in the name of water conservation.

I realize quarters are tight. By the time all three of us (red roller suitcase, Christie, automatic flushing toilet) are in said stall, getting the door shut is a feat in and of itself. The genius who designed the stalls with the door swinging in deserves to spend his afterlife in public restroom purgatory full of automatic flushing toilets. While I'm attempting to get myself situated, delicately laying out the hygienic toilet seat cover, naturally my bracelet rolls off my wrist and into your bowels (no pun intended). Wasting no time you opt to flush again. Fine! I get it! You're excited to see me, but is all the flushing really necessary? And dammit! You swallowed my bracelet. Two flushed seat covers and a searing temper later, I beat you at your own game, popping a squat before your sensor knew what hit it.

All seems to be going well. Then, because you can't leave good enough alone, I feel the tissue slowly riding out beneath my rump, followed by your familiar triumphant gurgles. This time even water splays up on my butt cheeks like you have confused your self for a bidet. You choose to be silent when all is done. As a matter of fact, I can't get you to budge. I wave my hands in front of the sensor, even jump up and down. Nothing. Only as I fumble and kick my way out of the inverted door do you once again flush. Yes, when I am jammed between the suit case and the open door, you laughingly spit all over the back of my pants.

Your partner in crime - automatic flowing faucet - is no better. I swear you're in cahoots. It turns on when my hands are in front of it, but promptly shuts off when they try to dip beneath the stream of water. I come at it from both sides, even the top. Nothing works. When another women walks up to the sink beside me, I smile sure she will join me in my frustration. I decide to damn every sensor to hell when her flowing stream of water turns on and stays on.

Fine automatic flushing toilet. You and your cohorts have outsmarted me this time. But this isn't over. Technology being what it is, sensors are so a thing of the past. Why, I bet it's only a matter of time before we can even pee via the world wide web. Bathrooms will be eradicated altogether. Till then, flush your heart out you porcelain piece of crap.

Christalina