Step Away from the Bidet (Or How Quijote Became 'Clean to Pray')

Be forewarned, there is a lot of potty humor in this post.

The fall departmental party at my favorite Egyptian professor's house was this weekend, and after about two beers, three iced teas, and a large glass of water, I had to make several trips to the household facilities (anyone remember those New Mexico road trips? Yeah, I'm still an 8 year old in the back seat saying "Daaaaaad, we might have to stop soon...").

Two hours into the night, and about my third trip, I gave in to temptation. Attached to the professor's toilet were three knobs under the logo "ULTRA-Bidet" which for some reason I associated with the slogan in my head "For that Ultra Refreshed Clean Feeling". "No..." I told myself. So I washed my hands... took one more look... then bent over and flicked the knob that said "Pressure."
After many years in higher education it has apparently still not dawned on me to not stand directly in front of what looks like nozzles as I'm pushing buttons or turning knobs. This is why I do not own guns.
After a whooshing "PSSH" sound, the front of my jeans became rather well soaked. Though I must admit, I did feel ultra refreshed and clean.

Then came the question of how to avoid looking like I just peed myself in front of all my colleagues, professors, and potential advisers. Thankfully, my wonderful fiancee gave me a great jacket last year that I could fold in front of my pants and hold onto. So I could go out, rejoin the party, and perhaps slip out without anyone noticing. It just looked like I had taken off my jacket. I could slip out, change pants, and come back with little to no fuss.
And then laziness overtook me. I did not want to walk fifteen minutes, home, change pants, come back, then explain why I was suddenly wearing khakis. So I stepped out and rejoined the party, with the jacket folded and hanging from my arm, in front of my pants.
And no one noticed.

At least... not until I started telling them. I mean come on. This is just too funny to not turn into a story.
So I talked to Mohamed (the professor whose house it was), and told him about my attempt to use his bidet. His first response, "Oh please tell me you were not in standing in front of it when you turned it on!"
He then explained how his brother-in-law had visited him many years ago, and was scandalized at his lack of a bidet. Apparently your hands must be clean when you pray in Islam, and the concept of toilet paper is just not very clean in Egyptian culture. So Mohamed had a bidet installed for when his family from Egypt visited. To add to the story Mohamed began laughing, and saying in a rather loud voice, "You are clean to pray now! I'll be sure to find you on Monday for call to prayer!"
We then spread the story to some of the people at the party, who I knew to be good folks and not the type to be too judgmental. The most common reaction was, "Yeah, I really wanted to see what happened when I turned the knobs too..."

The best part of the evening though, was when one of our star graduate students decided that he wanted a picture with all the girls of the department. And I became the unofficial photographer. Then his adviser wanted to have his own picture. And every girl wanted their camera to take at least one of the pictures.
I took about two dozen pictures, camera in one hand, my fiancee's jacket in the other, and NO ONE ASKED ME ABOUT IT OR MADE A SINGLE COMMENT.

At some point it dried, and I could stop holding the jacket in front of my pants. Still had a rather good evening.

Bidet 1
Quijote 0.
Well played, Bidet... well played.