The Best (Grossest?) Times I Humiliated Myself in Another Country
by Dorothy McGivney
1. I got dysentery in Kathmandu (no, not on The Oregon Trail), and had to give stool samples to a very cute doctor from my alma mater. He really wanted to talk about football, the private practice he’d one day return to in Ann Arbor, his love of the warm-hearted Nepalese people, and the importance of researching mysterious strains of bacteria in the hills of the Himalayas for the good of humanity. I, on the other hand, was lucid enough — despite my actual delirium — to realize what a goddamn catch he was and feel sufficiently mortified that whatever microorganisms were hiding in my intestines were a source of fascination for him. Even worse, upon my hastened return to the US, the recondite bacteria were still not gone. This meant a trip to the emergency room, where a stunningly gorgeous man gave me a rectal exam. And it wasn’t a “What do we have here, let’s take a look around” kind of thing. It was a very thorough, probing rectal exam by the most conventionally attractive human being I have ever interacted with and likely ever will. Seriously. By the way, if you ever get a rectal exam, know that doctors like to ask you how many sexual partners you’ve ever had, your sexual orientation, and other casual inquiries about your butt.
2. After some traveler’s constipation — what follows is not for the squeamish — I used a public bathroom, #2-style, in Paris. On the one hand it was a relief — mais, oui. On the other, it was a less than ideal situation. My friends who had taken the trip with me were all waiting outside on some busy street, impatiently hoping we’d make it to our reservations at the one fancy restaurant we’d be visiting on our whole visit, our one splurge, a much-anticipated taste of the finer things in France. And yet, there I was, engaging in the least-fine of activities. But it gets worse — when my mission was complete, I went to flush the toilet … and it wouldn’t work. Yup, this is a toilet-wouldn’t-flush story. I tried multiple times, then finally gave up and left. (Really, I tried as best I could, over and over again, I swear.) I was about a fourth of the way down the block when I realized to my absolute horror that the bathroom attendant had come after me. I realized this because she was literally jogging along the street while screaming in French that I hadn’t flushed the toilet. And she made me come back and do it.*
*I have no idea why the toilet worked when she was standing up close and personal in the stall with me. But it did.
Dorothy McGivney writes Jauntsetter, a travel newsletter for New Yorkers that anyone, really, can enjoy.
Photo of Kathmandu via Flickr