Just noticed this amazing seven-point checklist for A380 potty procedures.
Each time she comes in to check the guys are still alive the CC also enquires into the needs of the Capt to go pee-pee. If he expresses interest in an “evacuation“, she will go out and move the Y class rabble away from the crapper and rope it off like a night club VIP entry. All the bored and dazed cattle class being moved away to gaze, slack-jawed, from a distance at the relative spectacle of the "VIP" captain heading for the Thunder Bowl.
Then the GR2 stands guard outside the throne room as the Capt unfolds the Gulf News and settles in for the long haul long drop. Everyone takes note of the time.
Hundreds of NM later, he emerges to a appreciative round of applause from the punters but dashes their hopes by declaring “30min holding” required for the bog.
Can't believe they have a checklist for taking a crap!! What next?? Probably driven by IFS, as always. What a laughing stock we are. The original door Airbus designed would solve all of this - but not with this lot.
I love how they refer to it as a "VIP" rope. You 380 wallahs are VIPs!!
From the anals of an airline pilot of yaw and yesteryear…
In halcyon days gone by, one would leave the flight deck as & when natures call required, with no procedure or 'guarding' necessary.
Invariably some kindly soul would let you jump the queue, thus you'd enter the gentleman's reading room, close & bolt the door, and on would come the light.
Now, when compared to the modern vacuum flush units, the old water flush toilets didn't always quite cut-the-mustard when it came to disposing of other peoples business and you could bet your bottom dollar that, if the person whom had let you jump the queue was some mega-hot bint (presently standing outside the door), what would now be facing you - as you lift the lid on the throne - would be a gargantuan dreadnaught of truly eye watering proportions, veritably a turd akin to a half Dundee cake, and which might best be described in terms of the ubiquitous 'Henry Moore', aka, a very large pile of shit in a public place.
You'll marvel to yourself that whom ever lamped-out this champion of a Vince didn't also cry out in a glass-shattering falsetto, i.e. reminiscent of the eponymous Bexleyheath-born chanteuse, Kate Bush, and you'll also figure that whom ever it was has certainly lost some weight!
Coupled with its visual horror, the smell is rank to the extent that you wish you'd gone in there with a miner's canary.
You immediately try the flush, but this battleship-sized neckbreaker of a Richard III is stuck fast upon the slipway and there ain't no budging it!
So you load ream upon ream of bog paper on top the gentle giant, and try the flush again.
Unfortunately this appears to make matters worse. The bowl is now clogged all to hell, with what might best be described as crapier mache, and the addition of yet more water runs the risk of it all overflowing.
Conscious of the good will shown at letting you jump the queue, and yet far from the "I won't be long" that you initially intended, you've now been in there for ages and, with the addition of water, the smell is getting worse!
But yet more haunting even than this, is the premonition of what will be the bint's reaction, were she to find that growler still in-situ in the bowl, not to mention the mountain of bathroom origami that now bedecks it; she would, no doubt, think that it's all of your doing and there's now no way that you can hope to explain it!
Wobble of head and 'what to do' ?!
Needless to say, the thought of taking a dump yourself is now probably the furthest thing from your mind, but, needs must!
So you drop your strides, indulge in some lavitation (aka 'hovering', just as ladies are want to do in a public bog) and pray to God that you don't drop a ¼ pounder pipe bomb (i.e. a kind of explosive shit that goes off without warning just as soon as it enters the pan, usually causing massive collateral damage by way of backsplash) and you are now somewhat regretting the extra fiery rogan josh that you had last night.
Doing your best to avoid shaking hands with the French (i.e. pushing ones finger through the bum wad) one finishes the polishing and then, with a trepidatious hand, attempt a final flush.
Miracle of miracles, the whole ensemble whooshes down the gurgle tube. With quiet delight you note that the dreadnaught has finally sunk !
You vainly endeavour to mask the still awful stench, via a more than liberal spraying of that foul smelling poo pourri, i.e. the aptly named Eau d'Toilet that is oft found gratis in airliner thunder closets.
Composing yourself, fly up / shirt tucked in, you make your exit as if the shituation never happened... only to find that there's nobody waiting outside and that your previous angst was misplaced. However, the thought crosses your mind that perhaps the odour emanating from your antics has encouraged any queuers to another part of the aircraft, and you further note that rows of seats close-by (on what is a full flight) seem strangely empty?!
And the lesson from all this is: Always get the Cabin Crew to check & clean the bog before you intend to use it, especially if it's a water flusher !
Last edited by Old King Coal; 9th Dec 2012 at 23:00.
Reason: With many thanks to those who've expressed their enjoyment of the post (and in answer to 777boyo: nope, it's TL@FZ) :O
Am I the dumbest guy in town? or is potty humor just not my style... It an available lavatory for customers. Unfortunately due to the world we live in security procedures have to be in place when we use it. Yes we would ALL prefere a crew only lavatory and bunks up front. Thats just not the case, so work around it....or pee in you flight bag