As you move east from Europe, you will begin to see that a lot of the toilets are equipped with an extra, exotic looking device. Always found within reach when seated on the toilet, a hose will appear from the wall with a trigger powered sprayer. To the uninitiated this will seem a bit strange, perhaps it is for washing feet after walking in the sand or maybe to cool yourself after a day in the humid Eastern sun, or just maybe a little mini shower for when you realise you have forgotten to shower at home and need to give yourself a quick spritz, to get rid of that b.o, when out and about. However no, as the name suggests, the Bum Gun is for millions the toilet paper equivalent. Having first learnt of its use, I felt quite negatively towards it, I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of spraying off the poo rather than scraping (scraping? Gross Jim…) and wiping, it just didn’t seem right. Who was this water serpent to tell me how to change my much loved and well evolved pooping habits. However, having been in Bum Gun nations for long enough it was only time before I encountered a toilet without toilet paper and a pretty ‘dire(rea)’ case of liquid poo. Since my first time using the gun, I have actually felt a little upset, nay, a large amount angry at an establishment for not having one. So to show my appreciation and hopefully get others using the B.G here is my love letter to the watery dude.
Dear Bum Gun,
You are there for me in my moments of need. As I enter a toilet, stomach turned to liquid by an overzealous helping of chilli, wallet-pleasingly cheap alcohol, or an unwise trust of a decidedly untrustworthy street-meat seller, you are there to give me a hug and let me know that going to the toilet can still be a time of joy. As the ancient saying goes: fight fire with fire, so why would you do anything different than fight liquid with liquid. Sitting there with the ‘fireiest’ of rings, my only consolation is that you, Bum Gun are there to cool where no one else would dare.
When my stomach decides that today is the day for solid matter I still have the terrifying bog roll situation. While I still have love for puppies on the roll, when I’m met with double, or even single (what kind of world is this?) ply toilet roll I dread the almost sandpaper effect of rubbing away at an already chilli induced rawness. Not you though Bum Gun, your hopefully powerful jet soothes and cleans with one blast. You are as efficient as you are fun. Attempting to get the aim correct and not to spray out the back or onto an area of the body that would cause (un)comfort makes the act of wiping as pleasant as the act of deployment.
While you may make my bum area a little wet, there is either our old buddy toilet roll to help out, or a short while of cooled ass cheeks and embarrassment as you arise from seats having to explain you actually went to the toilet prior to sitting down (in the toilet), rather than as would seem while sitting down (in your pants).
This is a small price to pay though. I know that many people may see you as a device of torture or little more than a foreign novelty. However, they just need to see your glory, your purpose and your majesty. This is my short love letter to you. You have made going to the toilet a pleasure, rather than an never ending journey of making sure I am carrying wiping materials with me everywhere, meaning my swagger has increased. You can never be cool with a roll of toilet roll shoved in your pocket, but armed with a Bum Gun you can be the James Bond of toilet activities. Life long dream = achieved.
Jim (Agent 00Poo)