Port-O-Potty Luuuvvvvv

Port-a-potties crack me up and I kind of like them. I like humility and humbleness, I think they’re attributes that are FAR under-rated and not enough people exhibit these traits. And there’s just something extremely humble about a port-a-potty. It’s more humble than a bathroom, usually. Although, yesterday at the University, I went into a bathroom that someone apparently had a LOT of trouble getting their shit into the toilet while in the stall. I walked in and there was shit all over the place. What happened here? The stall is really quite small, how did they manage to get poop all over the floor? Were they hovering from the ceiling? It was kind of like they took their pants off and began to spin while they were simultaneously shitting. Did they run backwards with their pants down from 10 feet away with the stall door open aiming for the toilet??? Or did they really spin while shitting? I mean, really...what the hell? How do you miss when you’re that close?

Anyway, usually going into a bathroom has some distinction left that still gives the action a bit of dignity. A western bathroom has a civility that one can still be slightly delusional about what they just did. An eastern bathroom may have a civility to it, but it also provides an incredible workout for your legs. You’re hovering over a porcelain destination in the floor hoping that the target is met, not sitting on a throne catching up on some reading.

One can go and “freshen up” in a bathroom. A look in a mirror mounted on a wall so that one might be able to adjust their tousled hair, running water with soap over their hands, sometimes hand lotion lends a touch of sophistication. And of course, a toilet that one can sit on (or hover for some of you) that much of the time you won’t even have to flush because it’s automated, usually dampening your danger zone before you’re even finished. But when someone says that they’re going to “freshen up” it is vague and joins forces with the discretion of the bathroom. They aren’t being blunt saying, “I’ve really got to whiz” or “I’ve got to go drop one” or “There’s a turtle poking its head, I’d better go put it in the pond.” Oh sure, there are some of us who are completely honest – usually close friends. However, I’m referring to casual acquaintances. So, when someone excuses themselves to a bathroom, you’re not entirely sure what they’re doing.

But a port-a-potty is so damn basic and I like them. You know EXACTLY what someone is doing in them. No one is going in there to “freshen up”. Now, it’s not like I prefer them. I don’t. I just like how real they are.

Here are some recollections of port-o-potty luuuvvvvv:

* This one time, my mother and my oldest brother had used a port-a-potty down in Pensacola, Florida. My parents’ home was severely damaged in the hurricane that tore Pensacola apart a couple of years ago. They were thankful that it wasn’t worse and were saddened by all the complete destruction of the area and for the folks that were left with nothing. Quite a while after the storm, my oldest brother was visiting them and so he and my folks headed out to some nearby places to look at some sailboats that were for sale. My dad’s sailboat ended up in their favorite restaurant during the storm, so they were in the market for another sailboat...and another favorite restaurant.

Well, they had stopped to use a port-a-potty in their search for the new sailboat. My brother went first for some reason, then my mom. When my mom was in there, she noticed that the inside was decorated with a blue paper mache all over the walls and thought how pretty it looked. When she emerged from the potty, a guy came running over yelling, “WHY WERE YOU IN THERE??? DID YOU USE THAT???” My mom said, “Well, yeah, why?”

As it turns out, it wasn’t blue paper mache decorating the walls. The potty had been knocked over during the hurricane. Thankfully, my mother has an excellent sense of humor, so she burst out laughing and screaming at the same time.

* A friend of mine was in a port-a-potty during a family picnic. They were out at a lake and a thunderstorm was fast approaching. While she was in there, the potty got struck by lightening. She went running out of the potty with her pants around her ankles screaming her head off because it had sounded like a bomb went off over her head. After everyone was able to control their laughter (about 2 days later), she was able to stop shaking and pull her pants up.

* When I was in the military and deployed to Haiti for “Operation Uphold Democracy” (cough and BULLSHIT), we had to use conex boxes to relieve ourselves in. They were considered our bathrooms. The temperature was 110 outside (with high humidity), so inside, it was probably 120, at least. There were no lights in there, so we would bring our flashlights. It was like crawling into a baking-sewer. There was a ledge a few feet in the air where one would sit over a hole cut through the particle board. A barrel sat below to catch the whiz and turds.

Often times, I would be sitting right next to someone that I didn’t know, no partition between us. We would be sitting, grunting and sweating right next to one another. I’d ask if he was going to use the other side of that wet-wipe and we’d laugh and then someone would blow a big fart and we’d all laugh again. It was real. And it was dirty. Obviously, there wasn’t an ounce of pretense in all of that filth.

We later received a special delivery of approximately 20 port-a-potties that served over 500 personnel. And they rarely emptied them. We practically would have to crawl up onto the mound of shit that rose high above the toilet seat, sit on the top, pinch one off increasing the height of the pile, then crawl back down and wipe our cheeks off as well as our cracks. That was a little too real.

I guess I like port-a-potties because I hate pretension. And somehow in some warped way, the potty reminds me that whether or not anyone likes it, we’re all the same. We all have to pull down our pants and shit. Whether you sit, spin, hover or run backwards while you’re doing it, is beside the point, we all do it. So, all of that pretense that’s flying around judging who’s not the right class, or color, or religion, or who isn’t wearing the “right” thing or driving the “right” car, well, my hope is that someday it will be flushed away with the shit. Because that’s what it is. So, if this pertains to you and you’re sitting on your bigoted ass in the port-a-potty and can’t flush it, then at least leave your pretentious-judgmental crap in the can and be considerate and put the lid back down. No one wants to smell that. And when you leave the potty, it wouldn’t hurt to be a bit more humble.