The world is kind of a big place. To many people, their country, or even just their state or city, is their entire world – even though there are 200 million square miles of land on this planet. To many people, how things are done where they live is how things are done everywhere. I had unknowingly lived by the same assumption until I encountered The Toilet.

The summer of 2019 was different from all the summers that had preceded it because I was actually going somewhere just to enjoy life, one-on-one with my dad. Previously, I had spent the entire summer at camps and hadn’t left the US until 2018, when we had to go to Hong Kong to renew some complicated legal stuff and decided to tack on a journey through China to see some relatives. That trip was an eye-opening experience for me. My 10-year-old mind finally realized summer’s potential and its possibilities beyond staying home and attending some random summer camps nearby. This time, I was venturing into a new, alien land. I had at least known what to expect when visiting China – I mean, I lived there for five years. Europe was sure to be a whole different story.

We had left Venice and were looping around the Eastern front of Europe en route to Berlin, our final destination. The drive would take nearly 15 hours and way too many old Cantonese songs. (I have no idea where my dad’s obsession with '80s and '90s Cantonese pop came from. He doesn’t understand Cantonese, yet he listens to these songs daily). We had just crossed the border into Slovakia, and I really needed to relieve myself. We pulled over at a gas station, and I rushed to the restrooms. I was met by a dirty gray turnstile that demanded I pay a euro to use the lavatory. Now, keep in mind, this wasn’t the first time I’d been met with this strange, urban creature. I’d seen plenty of turnstiles in my daily life as a New Yorker and didn’t expect this one would be different from others I’d encountered so far in Europe. Turns out, the turnstile served a much more sinister purpose than I could’ve ever dreamed of.

I deposited my euro into the turnstile, and a machine printed a ticket that I hastily stuffed in my pocket. I strolled into the bathroom, humming a tune, acting casual, and trying to deter any potential thieves, which was actually one of my biggest concerns in this foreign land. There were one or two men in polos using the urinals, and a rhythmic plop plop quickly assured me that I knew what another man was doing in a toilet stall. I found a fairly clean urinal that seemed safely distanced from the men and began to relieve myself. I stared at the wall, calculating with annoyance how much longer this leg of the road trip would take. The men in polos left as I flushed my urinal. I looked in the mirror, checked my teeth, and used the water to rinse off some sauce I discovered had been stuck on my face from my lunch. (Thanks for not telling me, Dad.)

I’d finished drying my face and was nearly done drying my hands when I heard an ominous beeping noise. It sounded like my morning alarm, and gradually got louder. My first thought was that it must’ve been some weird European ringtone for the guy in the stall’s phone, and did not pay much attention to it. I finished drying my hands while humming, but after a couple seconds of beeping, I grew concerned. The guy in the stall grunted and gasped in confusion, and that was when I knew something was wrong. My first thought after noticing his confusion was that it was most likely a bomb, as literally every action movie I’d ever watched would suggest.

I took a breath. No, that can’t be it. Those are just movies. No one plants bombs in bathrooms in real life. Besides, there’s no one around that’s important enough to assassinate. Unless … Maybe this is a terrorist attack? Or ... maybe the man in the stall is actually an important enough man to kill … ? I just stood there, scaring myself with my own thoughts, until I forced myself to be rational. Chances are, I assured myself, that someone important enough to be assassinated probably wouldn’t be using some old, half broken-down bathroom in a random gas station in the middle of Slovakia.

I still had no idea what this beeping was, so I just stood there, when two buff guys with scary names riddled with Ds, Rs, and Is on their employee badges into the restroom and started pounding their fists on the poor man’s stall. They both looked like they were in their late forties, maybe early fifties. They both wore big frowns and some light gray stubble that made them look like they really had come out of a spy movie to assassinate someone.

I heard the man in the stall pull his pants up and watched as he awkwardly waddled out of the toilet stall, pants falling, belt unbuckled. He and the men had what sounded like a guttural rap-battle. It was as if I were an alien, observing a primitive species barter about the simple, human right to poop — which, when I think about it, was kind of what was happening. I considered leaving the three guys to do their business, but frozen by a mixture of shock, confusion, and curiosity, I stood there, watching two guys yell at a gesticulating man with his pants half down. The debate between them gradually got more heated, until finally, the man in the stall went to the turnstile and deposited another euro. The machine beeped and printed another ticket. The poor fellow hung his head in shame as he trudged back into the stall. He stopped to look at me for a moment with his sad, guilty eyes, in what almost seemed to be a warning.

This was a dangerous place, kid, his eyes seemed to say. Get outta here while you still can. I stood there, unmoving, then slowly started to make my way to the door.

The two men who had barged into the bathroom walked out muttering to each other, making wild hand gestures and talking in an annoyed tone. I stepped out of my way to let them go. The last thing I needed was for two Slovokian muscle men to force me out of a bathroom with my pants down. After the two men had passed, and I decided that I was safe, I took one last look at the ashamed man who was heading back to the stall, then decided that it was my turn to go. I opened the door and hurried back to rejoin my dad in the car, making sure that I had some extra coins in my pocket, just in case.