what the crap.

Disclaimer: Due to the graphic content of this post, viewer discretion is strongly advised.


If you ever have the chance to go to Paradiz Centre, make sure you have emptied all your bowels/bladders, and have nothing coming for at least the next 24 hours. Make that 48. I am not kidding.

It’s experiences like the one I had yesterday that makes me appreciate splendid toilets at hotels/shopping malls/ home, and wonder why in such a kiasu country like Singapore, why more isn’t being done to improve the standards of toilets. Sure, this may be one of those rare few toilets in Singapore which hasn’t undergone a radical facelift, but if anyone from the government/ Paradiz Centre’s management reading this entry, please, please, please, for the love of humanity, DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR TOILETS. (basement one, to be specific).

So yesterday, I was playing pool with some of my classmates after going for the Open House of 2 universities, and we wanted to kill some time from 5pm to 5.45pm, because we were meeting other classmates later to have dinner. I was already having a slight stomachache, presumably from eating the half-cooked chicken wings I myself cooked at the class barbeque the previous night (I’m giving my classmates who cooked the benefit of the doubt and just assume I was the only lousy cook who couldn’t get the wings to be fully cooked. But they were still rather tasty). Anyway, if I had known before yesterday the state of toilets in Paradiz Centre, I would have gladly told my bowels something along the lines of “You’re not getting out of here for the next 2 hours. Now stop giving my stomach a hard time, or I’ll plug your exit permanently,”

I should have known that the state of the shopping centre would give me a clue or two about the state of the toilet. My toilet sense was already tingling when I saw that the shopping centre was dimly lit, and the only people who were there at that time were either foreign workers or punks. But no, I chose to believe in the best of the shopping mall, and hence, the toilet as well.

The first time the pain really shot through my whole body was when we were playing our first game of pool. Being unable to stand the pain any longer without crapping in my pants, I tried as nicely as possible to ask the pool shop owner where the nearest toilet was. Through gritted teeth I said, “auntie, where is the nearest toilet?” and she just nonchalantly replied, “go out turn right,”. So I thought to myself “Hallelujah! At least the toilet’s not far,” so out I turned. 4 times. I bet they constructed the path to the toilet like that for people like me to wish they’d cleared their bowels at home every morning. Just when you think you’ve reached the corner of the toilet, you round the corner and see…another 10 metres of straight path to the next corner. Now, I’m not saying 10m is long, but after 3 turns you start to wonder if you’re in a maze, and whether going back out the way you came from would be a faster way to find the toilet.

Finally, when I reached the toilet after 2 hours, I rushed into the nearest cubicle. Immediately I saw a whole family, probably with their extended family, of flies. Now I’m going to call them “dungflies” here, because what other name can you give to a fly that hides in toilet cubicles, waiting for people’s…waste products? So, on the verge of screaming a profanity, I bit my tongue and went to the next cubicle. And the next one. And the next one. I ended up using none. Because it turns out that the dungflies are either all spending their march school holidays camping in a cubicle (1 cubicle per family plus extended family) waiting for some poor chap to provide them with a feast, or just to hibernate there. BECAUSE THERE ARE BLOODY DUNGFLIES IN EVERY DAMN CUBICLE. And it’s not just 1 or 2, it’s around 10 each. Tell me, would you feel safe exposing any body parts in the presence of around 10 dungflies? I guessed not.

That wasn’t the only problem. None of the cubicles had any toilet paper in it. Can you imagine? What the tourists would think? If they stumbled upon Paradiz centre and had the same predicament as me? They’d probably be like “what the *#@$ ?! And I thought Singapore would have world-class toilets! They have world-class this and world-class that, but they don’t even have a decent cubicle here? What the @#$% is wrong with this place?” thankfully, I’m not a tourist. But just imagine.

As I came out of the toilet, I could hear my insides screaming already. “Get this stupid crap out of me!” and I had to be like “I’m trying to, okay? But there’s no damn paper! How am I going to explain this to Mr. Pie Hole?” then I saw this toilet paper dispensing machine. Yes, that’s right, a toilet paper dispensing machine. It said “insert 10c here” at one end. Those mercenary bastards. I had to run back down the Road Less Travelled to retrieve my wallet, avoid the curious glances of my classmates and beat a hasty exit once more. As I inserted a 10c coin in the machine, I had never felt so humiliated before (at least that day). It was almost as if, when the machine was dispensing the toilet paper, it was saying “you big LOOSSEEERRRRRR. You don’t even bring toilet paper when you go out,” This was, without a shadow of doubt, my biggest waste of money this year. And, I could have sworn I heard some evil auntie hiding in a corner sniggling somewhere and saying, “hah! Another moron falling into our devilishly scheming plan to increase our income by 10 cents. And therefore our standard of living.” I could have sworn, if I had anything sharp at all, I would have torn the toilet paper dispensing machine to shreds. Not the paper, but the machine. Also, I will from now on, never again leave home without taking out at least 1 packet of tissue paper wherever I go.

I then had to choose which cubicle had the least number of flies. Or at least, the greatest proportion hibernating. In the end, I chose the first one, because I reckoned that perhaps they’re like humans on the MRT. They always choose the ones in the middle, leaving the cubicles at both ends relatively empty. So I opened the door and walked in as softly as possible, hoping not to wake them up from their deep slumber.

I’d prefer not to talk about the minute details of what went on next, but suffice to say that it was traumatizing. For starters, imagine, that the toilet bowl is so dirty, you cannot, absolutely cannot, sit on it without risking getting STDs on your pie hole. So there I was, balancing myself on my feet, trying not to get one leg stuck inside the toilet bowl, and getting Mr. Crappy to get out of me. Then suddenly this dungfly flew in through the space below the door, looked at me as if I was goodness knows what, before flying out again. I could have sworn it was telling me telepathically, “peek-a-boo! I see you!” not exactly something you’d need if you were trying hard to get certain things flushed out of your system would it? if, thousands or millions of years later, it evolved to have a neck, i'd come out of my grave just to wrap my hands around it and squeeze.

I also was having a hard time trying to cover as much of myself as possible in case of the flies waking up from their hibernation. Can you imagine? This fly who’s asleep suddenly wakes up to the smell of crap and says, “Blimey! Honey, wake up! We’ve hit the jackpot! Some idiot’s come in to give us our meal for the year! Hurrah!” desperately trying to avoid this situation, I was trying to cover myself as much as possible in case they decided my gluteus maximus was a buffet table.

And as I was holding my “thinking man’s position” there, I thought to myself, “why am I suffering a third-world condition in a supposedly first-world country?” and I found no answer to that. Perhaps one day when I’m lying in a hammock at home when I’m eighty I will. But not today. It certainly did not help matters that by this time, my bowels were trying to play “hide-and-seek” with me by not coming out. Try as I might, I just couldn’t find them. I think some of the buggers are still inside me now, as I’m typing this. I’ll deal with them later.

Finally, after 10 minutes (surely a world record) locked up in that cubicle, I could stand it no more, and after cleaning myself with that measly few pieces of paper, I dashed out (but not before flushing the toilet thoroughly), washed my hands, and ran towards freedom. Surely, surely, I wasn’t going back to hell now.

A few lessons have I learnt from this episode. They are:

1) never, ever, ever, ever, go to the toilet in paradiz centre. Unless they hire pest extermination to clean that defiled place. And I have at least 10 rolls of toilet paper with me.
2) Never ever attempt to try cooking at a barbeque. I know I’m supposed to be good at outdoor cooking, having passed that test in scouts, but let’s keep that a secret okay?
3) Never ever go to paradiz center, especially after eating funky food that day or the day before.
4) Someone should really, really do something about the toilet in paradiz centre.