I Got Trapped in a Self Cleaning Toilet in France
Last Updated on December 16, 2025 by Charlotte
It’s been a while since I shared one of my classic travel mishaps, so I figured I’d give you all something fun to read. The title really says it all, but for the record: yes, this is the story of how I got trapped inside a self-cleaning toilet in France.
Now, you might be asking, Charlotte, why does it matter that it was a self-cleaning toilet?
It matters. A lot.
For the uninitiated, France is home to futuristic public toilets that look vaguely like something Tony Stark would pitch in a PowerPoint. Some are free, some are paid, and all of them automatically spray down the interior after each use. This is meant to prevent misuse, and people camping out in them, a shining example of top-notch public facilities. It was not top notch to me!
My first mistake was entering the toilet even though the interior light seemed to be broken. No problem, so I thought, I’ll just use the flashlight on my phone.
There I was, alone in a pitch-black public toilet, my intestines staging a full French Revolution after two weeks of ignoring my lactose intolerance in the name of cheese. Brie happened. Camembert happened. A suspicious amount of fondue happened. My body was filing formal complaints in real time, and I had exactly zero cheese regrets until this exact moment.
I finished up, washed my hands, and made my way toward where the door should be.
I pulled the handle.
Nothing happened. And at this point, I was not panicking. Yet.
I jiggled the handle. I pushed. I pulled harder. I yanked. I threw my shoulder into the door with growing urgency, putting my full body weight behind it as if I were a foreign army breaking down a castle door.
But still, nothing. It did not budge. This is when the thoughts began. I knew — intellectually — that the toilet cleaned itself between uses. What I did not know was the time interval. Was it thirty seconds? One minute? Immediately? Had I already exceeded my allotted time in the pod? Was I about to be power-washed from head to toe in industrial toilet cleaner like a forgotten plate in a dishwasher? I could practically see the headlines: “American Tourist Found Soggy in Sanisette. Authorities Say She Should Have Read the Instructions.” And I imagined my eulogy: “She died as she lived: confused, slightly damp, and refusing to ask for help until it was almost too late.”
My hands got sweaty like Mom’s spaghetti. My heart rate spiked, my fingers so clammy that I nearly dropped my phone — my only source of light and hope — and caught it just at the last second.
Until in a stroke of pure survival instinct, I texted Travel Buddy, who was waiting peacefully in the car in parking lot, blissfully unaware of my impending demise:
Me: I am stuck in the toilet. Cannot get out. Help.
The three dots appeared.
Travel Buddy: Stuck in the toilet, or stuck on the toilet?
I have never typed so furiously in my life.
Me: LITERALLY STUCK INSIDE THE ROOM. DOOR WON’T OPEN!!
Bless him, Travel Buddy came running. And because he is, tragically for my ego, the more ripped of the two of us, he managed to strong-arm the door open.
I emerged into the light like someone released from captivity. Fresh air. Freedom. Life. And just as the door slid shut behind me, the toilet began its cleaning cycle.
The spray went off!!!
I had escaped mere seconds before being BAPTISED by a French sanitation system. So no, I wasn’t technically locked in. The door was probably just sticky. I may have been pulling the wrong way. But I stand by this: when a toilet is speaking to you firmly in French and threatening to hose you down, panic is a reasonable response.
