in Japan they have some weird toilets

I don't just mean the traditional kind that are on the floor so you get to squat - like a urinal on the ground - although those are fun.

I mean they have these extremely computery, digitaly, many-fangled contraptions with all sorts of inscrutable symbols, pastel-colored stick figures, and mystery functions. There are controls whereby you can warm the seat, cool the seat, have a bidet, flush, go for a swim, and do a lot of other things that I don't know why you'd want to combine with going to the bathroom. Not all toilets that I saw were like this - some were your standard flush with a silver handle type thing, or push a button on the top of the tank, but many were really rather confusing (at least to me). Of course, everything in Tokyo seems to be very digitalish, including the vending machines that dispense hot or cold canned drinks out of the same machine (cool), and automated trains that are always on time and working (we all understand that the Apocalypse will come before this happens in San Francisco).

With this in mind it is easy to understand how that in the subway restroom one day, as I sat there for a while, pondering the myriad buttons at my disposal (heh) and wondering which one might actually flush the contents of the toilet bowl, I finally settled on a likely-looking panel that flashed red and seemed bigger than the others. I pressed the button firmly, and stood up confidently, pulling up my pants and waiting for the quiet, respectable flushing sound to commence. Instead, the red button began flashing faster, and the airwaves were assaulted by repeated high-decibel squeals in rapidly-changing tones, not unlike an air raid siren sampling a violent video game. With astute logic, I rapidly ascertained that I had actually pushed the automated subway bathroom alarm, the one that indicates I AM HAVING A HEART ATTACK ON THE TOILET AND I NEED IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE AND WIDESPREAD ATTENTION.

Without stopping for the standard hygiene-related activities, I raced out of the bathroom, found my waiting friend and shoved him into a subway train soon to depart in the opposite direction from our destination. As the doors closed I noticed at least five uniformed, grim but determined-looking subway employees descending on the screaming restroom, ready for the life-saving task ahead of them. They would probably have efficiently taken out my appendix if necessary. It was a narrow escape.