Nina In New York: The Potty From Hell And Other True Tales

A lighthearted look at news, events, culture and everyday life in New York. The opinions expressed are solely those of the writer.
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By Nina Pajak

Do you remember that episode of The Twilight Zone in which a nightmarish doll named Talky Tina turns out to be sentient, and spends the first half of the nursing an increasingly psychotic grudge before eventually turning doggedly homicidal?

Well, I'm starting to think that those Twilight Zone writers were onto something all the way back in 1963. Dolls have always had a potential for a creepiness factor, but modern toy makers have brought it to the next level. And by modern toy makers, I mean the evil voodoo witch doctors who are secretly employed by companies like Fisher Price and V-Tech to impregnate seemingly innocent playthings with human souls.

If that seems like an exaggeration to you, then you obviously do not own any talking toys (or children), and for that I congratulate you. But the rest of you understand. Take, for instance, my daughter's potty. On its face, well, it has a face. A sweet, dopey face which lights up and yells YAY whenever you press the flusher. It is also equipped with a moisture sensor in the bowl, which is designed to trigger a congratulatory song whenever a child succeeds in going pee pee therein. Currently, ours is filled with toys. Dry toys which have gone untouched in weeks. No urine has ever touched this object. And yet, from time to time, when no one has been within feet of the bathroom in hours, it will spontaneously erupt into a joyous announcement that "you went potty!" Then it will sing about toilet paper to the tune of "Frère Jacques" and demand to be flushed. Each time it happens, I jump ten feet in the air and a chill goes down my spine.

Here are my theories:

1. The potty is alive and slowly waging a campaign of fear against me for reasons I have yet to uncover.

2. The plastic reindeer toy who resides in the potty is alive and has a bladder issue.

3. We have a peeing ghost.

I'm going with the first one. And what's worse, I don't think he's acting alone. The other day the child was napping and I was in the kitchen, and from the depths of a toy bin which had not been disturbed in days I hear the unmistakable noise of a toy singing. I suspect it was our plastic hammer doing its schtick about counting in Spanish. Many times, a walker toy would spontaneously start crowing like a rooster and ringing its plastic telephone, repeatedly insisting that "ringaling, the animals sing!"

It has been disabled and relocated to our basement, where I assume it is using its downtime to work out its plot to kill me and my family, or possibly transfer its trapped soul into our bodies so that it and all the other toys may live and breathe as flesh once more. No longer bound by the limitations of battery power, the toys would be unstoppable.

But what is their end game? That I have yet to discover. Are they evil spirits with a lust for power and human domination? Are they operatives of the Chinese government, which has been using its manufacturing industry as a front for a massive, worldwide spy ring? Are they aliens from another planet, biding their time before they spring up and take over the world? I'll entertain the Toy Story theory that they are simply benevolent, sentient beings whose goal in life is to love and be loved, although I know this is probably wishful thinking.

I suspect that I should begin my interrogations with Violet, the singing dog, who has cleverly been designed to learn the name and preferences of her owner via a USB cord hookup to a computer program. As she has assumed many of my daughter's attributes (love of cheese, dogs, and the color purple), I'm hoping that I can appeal to her better nature and get her to crack first. We've all seen Toy Story. We know they can turn it on and off (pun always intended). She can withstand much pain, as my daughter has proven, but I wonder just how many times anyone can listen to "Hot Cross Buns" before breaking.

I intend to find out.

Nina Pajak is a writer living with her husband, daughter and dog in Queens. Connect with Nina on Twitter!