Worth Getting Wet For

We'd gone to Normandy to attend a ceremony honoring a friend. Afterwards, with time on our hands before our train back to Paris, we decided to stop at a local supermarket in Lisieux to do some shopping. We'd gone there often when we lived in Normandy; the wine department with its vast number of outstanding selections was always the first place we checked out.

This time was no different, except this time our eyes nearly popped from our heads. "Look at those prices!" I exclaimed. "They seem incredibly low, at least compared to those in Paris."

After we got home, we did some checking and discovered we were right. In Paris, Château Montrose, top-flight Bordeaux from the outstanding 2019 vintage, was selling for 345 euros; in Lisieux it was 195. Three other Bordeaux - Léoville Poyferré, Léoville Barton and Pape Clément - bottled a year earlier - were selling for 158 euros in Paris; in Lisieux they were priced at 88. Brane-Cantenac, one of our favorite wines from Margaux, was listed at 105 in the big city; at our old supermarket it was 64.

"We have to go back" Petie said. "This is too good to pass up." I agreed. Two days later we were on the train again.

When we arrived at the station in Lisieux, Petie said she had to use le petit coin. The pay toilet, which cost 40 centimes (about 40 cents) and was self-cleaning, was located just outside the station. I told Petie to hurry because I had to go, too. When she came out, I grabbed the door before it closed to avoid paying. "Don, the flush, you're going to get the flush!" Petie said. I wasn't listening. I just didn't want to spend another 40 cents.

The door closed and the lights went out. It was pitch black. I couldn't see a thing. Seconds later, the automatic cleaner whooshed into action. Jet sprays shot out, first from the floor, then from the ceiling. I tried to get out of the way but it was impossible. I was being hit from all directions. Then the toilet erupted with water shooting up like a geyser, soaking me even more.

I tried the door. It was locked. The sprayer kept spraying. It was like being in a car wash. I began pounding on the door. Petie, who was just outside, yelled that there was a man who'd just arrived and desperately needed to use the toilet.

"But I can't open the door," I shouted.

"There's a button right beside the door," she hollered back.

"There's no button!"

"Yes there is. It's a little yellowish light."

"The only light is a red dot on the ceiling. I've pushed it and nothing happens."

"When you face the door, it's a button on your left side."

"There's no button!" 

"Of course there is. That's how I got out." 

"I can't see any button. I can't see anything. It's pitch dark in here."

"It's about elbow high. Are you facing the door? It's on your left. And Don, the man who's with me really has to go." 

"I'm telling you, THERE'S NOTHING THERE! NOTHING!!!"

"It's a yellowish light. Just push it. Then push the door." 

"I've tried but it won't open!" 

Finally it did, but only after the automatic cleaner had finished doing its thing. It had taken nearly four minutes.

I was drenched. I felt like Mister Clean. As I emerged from the toilet smelling like disinfectant, the man who was about to wet his pants rushed in but, before closing the door, asked me what button I pushed to get out. I shook my head; I couldn't be bothered I was so angry. Petie however couldn't stop laughing.

We sat in the sun for a while so I could dry out, and mope. But the bottles I took home cheered me up . . . and hey, I also saved 40 centimes!