Every wonder why even the chubbiest of women has such solid thighs? Even if them legs are the kind of big that makes you go “Dayum!” they could still crack walnuts.
Let me fill you in on a secret: From an early age, we are all (or should be) taught by our mothers the art of hovering. Instead of allowing all our weight to be wielded by the ass, we use each and every unique muscle from our gluteus maximus down to our triceps surae (calf muscle) to keep ourselves from making contact with anything under the ass.
This is useful for both public restrooms and sitting on a guy’s lap (so he doesn’t know how much you really weigh).
The designers behind the automatic flush’s sensitivity meter did not take those blessed with Hovering into their equations, and thus, this thing is the bane of our existence. Never mind the already-existing complaints that it flushes when you don’t need it to and doesn’t flush when you then do want it. The major defect in the auto-flush is unfortunately the thing that allows it to work: it relies on movement detection.
Sure, this makes sense, as you lift your derierre from the general region of the porcelain throne, you don’t have to touch a presumably nasty handle, because the toilet will do it for you. Great. Simple.
Not so much.
The autoflush will acknowledge any flutter of movement as a sign that is needs to evacuate the bowl and refill. This clearly only makes sense if you’re sitting, because the next major source of movement will be performed as you stand up. For hovering, you’re already halfway there, and the flush-o-matic just doesn’t know what to do with itself, so it makes up its own rules. Even the most subtle shift in weight, and that thing is going to try to suck you right through the earth to China. So when you reach for the paper, you’re going to enjoy that nice mist that rises up from the bowl as the water is drained with the force of a jet engine, as water molecules clashing against each other like Titans, and rogue droplets see your cheeks (and sometimes even your lower back – ick) as the most sensible place to set up camp. If this freaks you out, you can try telling yourself that the water splashing you is clean, as it’s the refill, but try to do so while knowing that avoiding contact with anything mysterious in that bathroom is purpose of the hover in the first place! If that toilet is as bat-shit crazy as the ones where I work, it will flush again as you pull your pants up, and again as you’re exiting the stall. And average pee trip for me results in 2-4 flushes, completely usurping our world’s water storage.
How I will defeat this evil creation in the future:
First, I will push the stall door open ever-so-slowly, but before I’ve opened it fully, before the sensor can lay it’s creepy eye on me, I will reach around the door to the paper, and arm myself before I even step foot inside. Next, I will drop trou and handle my bizz. with my TP already in hand, I have no need to turn, tilt, or otherwise move my body to one side. Getting to the exfil point is going to be tricky. I will somehow have to get my pants back around my waist while slowly straightening my legs until I reach a standing position, moving in minute increments so as not to alert the sensor. From here, I will have to zip and button as I’m unlocking the door. At this point, the sense-o-flush, infuriated that I have triumphed over it, will then resort to execute a violent flush, attempting to spray me with everything it’s got, but by then I’ll have the protection of the stall door behind me, and Hoverers will hail me as their conquering hero.