There is terror lurking below the streets of Paris, which is unknown to most people. But I know it; I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. And I consider myself lucky to be here today to tell the tale. This is a demon which thrives on striking fear in the hearts and bladders of weary tourists. She is the evil guardian of the pay toilets, known as Madame de Toilette.
It was the spring of ’97, and I was a young, impressionable girl on her first trip to Europe. I was intoxicated by the wonder of the culture, and the bold sense of history emblazoned within the architecture. I felt invincible. It was not until I was on the train through the Channel Tunnel from London to Paris, that I started to feel my own mortality. At first I thought that the fear in my bones was based on the idea that the tunnel might collapse, committing me to a watery grave. But I was wrong. My bones predicted a horror that my mind had not yet fathomed. I was on a train straight into the lair of Madame de Toilette.
Upon arrival in Paris, my bladder gave me the familiar ‘I gotta go’ warning, and I asked my traveling companion to be patient while I found a restroom. I then strolled unknowingly through a door and wound up face to face with the gatekeeper, Madame de Toilette. She immediately screamed her riddle at me in an ancient foreign dialect. I stood trembling and searching my mind for the magical phrase. I had been taught the phrase weeks before, and knew that recalling it would be the only chance to save my immortal soul. What was that phrase? Urgency and adrenaline were mottling my mind, and it seemed as though I was doomed when suddenly I blurted out, “je ne parle pas francais!”
Wrong answer! Laser beams shot from her eyes, striking the concrete ground, causing it to quake and open up revealing a smoldering underworld. I barely had time to shriek and jump back before being sucked into the firey chasm. Just then, my companion peeked in to see what the fuss was about. Again, Madame de Toilette screamed her riddle. He calmly answered the riddle, and further subdued her by offering a gift of shiny coins. And though all the requirements had been met for me to pass through her gate, she did the most horrible, despicable thing imaginable… She escorted me into the MEN’S restrooms. Why she did that, I’ll never know. Perhaps to remind me that it was a man who saved me from damnation. Perhaps it was to punish me with visions of men standing at urinals. Perhaps it was because the ladies bathroom was closed for cleaning. All I can do is speculate.
One thing I do know, fellow travelers. Madame de Toilette is out there. And she’s waiting for you.