The best thing about flying is taking a dump in an airplane toilet. I know, I know...but, hear me out.
Usually, when you pump mud beyond the confines of your home, you can pretty much kiss your privacy goodbye. You’re facing a multi-stall situation, with God only knows who squatting next to you, tighty whities or panties drooping around their ankles, tooting their bung flute and stinking up the joint.
Not on a plane.
On a plane, you enter your own personal sanctum, complete with toilet, sink and everything else you need for a solemn, private defecation experience.
I travel a lot in my job and the airplane toilet experience is always the highlight of the trip. My wife is totally the opposite—when we fly on vacation, she makes sure she unloads at the terminal, before setting foot on the plane. Not me, man. I hold it. I even plan my meals the day beforehand, to ensure I’m packing fudge when I step on board.
There are two kinds of airplane toilets. The first features a shiny, stainless steel bowl, with a matching flapper at the bottom. You hit the flush handle and a beautiful whirlpool of turquoise water swirls around and around, swishing your crap away to the belly of the plane somewhere.
The second kind I call the "shit sucker." It has a dark-colored bowl, with no flapper in its throat. It looks like a third-world adobe pot that some cave-dwelling terrorist might shit in.
The stainless steel bottom on the blue flusher may or may not present you with a view of your rectal deposit—it all depends on the weight and consistency of your turds and whether they hit the flapper plate head-on or slide down the side of the bowl first. Small turds can sometimes resist the flush, especially if they settle near the hinge of the flapper. Repeated flushing won’t accomplish anything—in this case, you need to top it with some extra clumps of dry T.P., so the flush water has something to leverage to whisk the stuff away. I have used this technique many times, with success.
The shit sucker is a whole ‘nother animal. It can be frightening at first. The bowl is strategically dark brown, to give it the illusion of bottomlessness. Turds blend in like camouflage. Your crap just sits there when you’re done, looking up at you and laughing. But, you will have the last laugh.
After you wipe and deposit your tissue on top, like whipped cream on chocolate ice cream, you hit the flush button and all hell breaks loose. The bathroom is filled with a loud roar and your ka-ka is sucked into oblivion. I’m pretty sure the suction is created by a direct link between the toilet and the jet engine that propels the plane—that’s how loud and strong it is. Unlike the blue flusher, I have never seen a turd—even the stubborn ones—survive the initial flush.
WARNING: NEVER, I MEAN NEVER, REMAIN SEATED ON A SHIT SUCKER WHEN YOU HIT THE FLUSH BUTTON! The force is such that it can rip your balls clean off or pull your vag inside out—I’m not kidding.
I admit that cleaning up when you’re done is a little anti-climactic, with a teennie-weenie kiddie kitchen sink, that dribbles water on you a little bit at a time. But, hey, that only affects you if you’re one of those prudes that bothers to wash your hands...
