Many of us use toilets as vehicles for escape.
Noisy party? Overwhelming family gathering? Crying fit? Boring workday? Bad date? A peep into someone else's medicine cabinet? They are a haven.
But have you ever thought about using them as actual vehicles for escape into... outerspace?
Alright, hear me out.
During one such hectic family reunion gathering about 10 years ago I sought solace in my aunt's guest bathroom and began (for reasons I can't particularly remember, perhaps it was during my Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy phase) to imagine that the entire bathroom had detached from the rest of the house and was now gently ascending out of the atmosphere and launching into the great beyond, leaving me, its sole occupier to captain my toilet-ship among the stars. It was a wonderfully freeing idea, the ultimate metaphor for the seclusion one seeks in a lavatory. Soon this unlikely daydream grew into somewhat of a habit, considered whenever I encountered a new washroom, and was a heck of a lot more fun than reading an old magazine or the shampoo bottle.
Something appealed about the capsule-like nature of a W.C. and the extreme limitations posed by the size and whatever supplies came with it (for the purposes of fantasy, these are presumed to inexhaustible). In fact, I was delighted to find that a recent $62,000 bet by professional poker player Rich Alati to survive 30 days in pitch-black solitary confinement saw him holed up in the master bathroom of an Air BnB in Las Vegas. He had nothing but a mattress wedged between cupboards (this was a surprise, I'd always pictured sleeping in the tub), a yoga mat, some food, and then all your standard bathroom stuff: Q-Tips, toilet, towels, lavender bath oil, etc. He lasted 20 days - doing push-ups on the bathtub, singing (those acoustics tho), and hallucinating a ceiling of stars.
So, we all have a favourite toilet, but is yours a Loona 2 or more of an Apolloo 13? Take this quiz to find out...
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