“I have to pee,” I said. My husband pointed to a self-cleaning, fully automated toilet pod; they were everywhere in Paris. I hadn’t tried one yet, so I got in line. When my turn came, I swiped at various sensors, and the door closed behind me. Mid-pee, I reached around to remove my backpack, forgetting about the pod’s motion sensitivity. An automated voice squawked in French, but I couldn’t understand, so I continued emptying my full bladder. From my seat on the throne with my pants around my knees, I watched wide-eyed as the door slowly opened to the street.
Heather Maat is a mama, wife, and writer of creative nonfiction. She calls Calgary, Alberta home, but she doesn’t mind leaving to travel. “Street Toilet” is the Editor’s Pick for our FRAUGHT FIRSTS contest, part of our 2026 Micromemoir Marathon.