The problem with a lot of public toilets these days is that they have electric eyes and the water shoots up into your asshole before you've even had a chance to wipe yourself. Then when it's time to wash up and you go to the sink, the wall dispenser may spurt some soap on to your hand. But that's no guarantee there's going to be any water to suds up with. That's the problem with modernity. It's like the road to hell-- it's paved with good intentions. Ostensibly the reason for all these electric eyes is to save water, though it's unclear how this functions in the case of the shitter unless they're trying to prevent OCD types from flushing too much. However, perhaps the electric eye is aimed at another kind of compulsive documented in Judith L. Rapoport's The Boy Who Couldn't Stop Washing: The Experience and Treatment of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Going to the bathroom at one of the rest stops on an interstate or at the airport can really be a comedy of errors as you hopelessly dash towards the sink to try to wash the polluted water from your anal sphincter. It's embarrassing enough to see all the eyes looking at you suspiciously as you run to the basin with the seat of your pants now revealing a big wet stain, only to find that by the time you're finally able to get a hit from the faucet, the toilet is ready to again spurt meaningfully again up your wazoo. Wasn't it easier the old way? You went to the bathroom. Occasionally a piece of toilet paper would get caught in the wrong place and trail toilet water after you as you tried to buckle your pants. However, generally it was a slam dunk, in which you finished taking your crap and had time to gaze narcissistically at your face, after having simply turned on the tap to wash the soap off your hands.
Photo of toilet:rfc1394
This was originally posted to The Screaming Pope, Francis Levy's blog of rants and reactions to contemporary politics, art and culture}