Chest-height puking toilet in a nightclub bathroom


Originally published at:


Where’s the shower wand to wash the puke off? Off the walls, off the toilet, off the puker, off the innocent urinator to the left … Drunk pukers often don’t have good aim.


If you don’t kneel, you will never learn respect.


If you’re not seated, how will you learn to drive a bus?


If you aren’t screaming while puking, can you really say you are dedicated to the craft?


For the good of the environment bars should really have urinals that filter out all the drugs.


In Germany, this is the “Speibecken” (Spew-basin) which is the same word used for the spittoon in a Dentist’s office. For a bunch of images, some NSFW.
In German Fraternity language, they roughly call this “Going to see the Pope” - or “Poping” papsten supposedly from a latin verb to spew , or perhaps from a old or middle high German nouns.

Often the Speibecken has a hand sprayer attached to it for cleaning.


I’m quite convinced that there really is a word for everything in German. Even things nobody has thought of yet.


To be fair they did install some grab bars. Although personally when I’m puking, I’m not standing anyway.


I didn’t realize this was a common fixture in German fraternity halls. I was at exactly one party in exactly one fraternity hall. One person puked, but out of habit he headed for a stall to commune at the more usual porcelain altar. I thought that was a great opportunity missed, not taking advantage of the ‘proper’ vomitorium.

The whole party was a somewhat strange experience for a number of reasons.


Vomiters will be asked to leave the premises.


How is it “going to see the pope” if you don’t kneel? Hardly seems respectful.


I did not know that. Thanks!


Sorry in advance but this gross story belongs in this thread.

One time I got food poisoning from a tuna sandwich at the deli at lunchtime. Later, I was supposed to be meeting my friends at a seafood restaurant for dinner. Well, if you know me, you know I’ll tough my way through any kind of illness not to disappoint my friends.

So I get to the restaurant at about 7. I go in, greet my friends at the bar, but the smell of the seafood is too much. I feel it all starting to come up. I stand up, mid-sentence, run out the front doors, lean on the railing and puke my lungs out into the bushes… as people are walking by me into the restaurant to have their lobster and clam dinners… Telling their servers, I’m sure… “Whatever he had, we don’t want that.”

I felt so positively awful, but I remember clearly that schadenfreude feeling of a slight, impish chuckle at all those saps walking through my curdled tuna stench and into the restaurant that night…


That reminds me of the time when I was 12 puking at the top of a playground corkscrew slide, and watching entranced as it flowed down the yellow curve into the pants of the kid who slid before me.


Dang, that poor kid.


I love that story.


You’ll occasionally see a strategically placed utility sink in Taiwan drinking establishments for this purpose with a picture of a rabbit next to it. Puke and rabbit are homophones in Mandarin.


And recycle them, like a stillsuit for cocaine.


As long as we’re telling gross stories…

A few years ago, while dining at a small local Japanese restaurant with another family, my then 10 year old son decided to demonstrate both his newfound tolerance for spicy foods and all around machismo by downing a big spoonful of wasabi in one gulp. I was at the other end of the table so I didn’t notice when he started going green around the gills a few minutes later, then get up to go to the restroom.

My husband followed behind and when he realized that our son was about to toss his cookies, the hubs panicked and for some inexplicable reason decided that he had to get the kid outside before he puked. So he hustled the kid back OUT of the restroom and straight through the middle of the crowded restaurant. Miraculously, they made it just outside whereupon the kid spew his guts all over the sidewalk directly in front of the door.

Being the responsible citizen that he is, hubs got the attention of a waitress, apologised profusely, requested a large bucket a water to wash away the offending material, and then went back to guarding the puke and warning away everyone who was entering or exiting. The barely-english-speaking young lady nodded and smiled. 15 long minutes later, she finally returned with one small glass of water (with ice) and handed it to my husband. By this time, I had paid the check, came to investigate and once I understood the situation, went back inside to carefully explain to the busy (and barely-english-speaking) manager what happened and that it MUST be cleaned up right away because customers were turning away from the disgusting mess at his door. He nodded, smiled, and rushed off again.

We guarded the puke for another 15 long minutes with no sign of the manager before finally giving up and skulking off to the car.

Our new sushi place is a bit farther away, but I’m ok with that.