It’s your second day in Japan. You and a close friend had been saving for months for this trip and you’re finally ready to start taking in the sights. One of the first places you stopped was a small restaurant; you knew that it would take time for your digestive tract to acclimate to a new diet, but that didn’t stop you from binging on sushi and okonomiyaki. Now, here on a crowded street in downtown Hiroshima, you are beginning to feel the karmic backlash for your culinary recklessness. You dash through the crowd into the nearest shop (a dingy hardware store) and shout at the cashier in broken Japanese for a toilet. Looking slightly confused, he points you to an unmarked door in the back. Clenching your buttocks in an effort to hold back the coming tide, you waddle over and push open the door. To your dismay, there is no actual toilet; just a small hole in the floor opens into a pit. Not even a proper squatting toilet. However, you have no choice. You groan and squat over the hole.