Oh, black tea. Your caffeinated kick lures me over to the electric kettle every morning, but it's thanks to you that I found myself shelling out 2.50 grivna and peeing over an odoriferous pit in the train station this morning. It's not easy to do that while trying to hold the broken stall door closed with your other hand and at the same time clutch the little scrap of toilet paper that you've been given. In fact, the whole situation reminded me of this email I got last year...
Sept 2011.
My email to D.
"At 10 AM this morning Myroslava came from the airport with a new arrival, this neurotic east-coaster who hadn't slept in about 30 hours. Instead of getting sleepier as the day wore on, he got more and more wound up, until he was like a New Yorker on Crack (NYoC for short) by the end of the day. [For brevity, I've edited out a long story about NYoC's first encounter with the toilets in an elementary school. Suffice to say, he went in the men's room confidently, having studied abroad for a while near Moscow, and promptly ran out in shock.]"
Sept 2011.
D's response.
"I enjoyed your story about NYoC vs Ukrainian toilets. Send him my regards and tell him that one of those days he will encounter the "PUT" (Perfect Ukrainian Toilet).
Usually it is hard to encounter the PUT but sometimes the heavenly bodies align just right and an unfortunate person steps through the portal that leads to the "Perfect Ukrainian Toilet".