All through the years of raising children Angie has been a firm believer in the power of the potty. Anytime one of the children would say “I have a tummy ache” their mother’s patented reply was “You need to go poop” . Surprisingly this actually works well. Just think of the possibilities! The world would be able to solve it’s many problems with a simple bowel movement. Got a crabby boss? Tell him to go potty! Angry family member? Suggest taking it out behind the bushes. Dealing with inner work place issues? Start handing out coupons for Metamucil! Yes, the potty is a major peacekeeper in our family. I think the original pay toilets were the first ever psycho therapy sessions. To bad they went to the couch method, much too messy.
The potty and it’s by products are many times a subject leading to hilarious stories. (See the earlier blog entitled “Never Take a Buddy to the Bathroom”) This brings us to the subject of “personal gas” as my mother would call it. Mother had a rule, personal gas was never allowed in the house. The only exception was my father because 1.) He didn’t care and 2.) he was deaf in one ear and couldn’t hear out of the other. This reminds me of one of my favorite Angie stories:
We were flying home from Amsterdam after visiting friends in Holland. We were flying in a brand new Boeing 777. The plane was huge inside so I decided to take a picture of how big it was. I raised my camera up over my head while facing the lens towards the rear of the plane and took three rapid shots with flash. The resulting digital pictures that I reviewed in my seat were a close up of the Danish passenger starting to sit down behind me and his wide open eyeball. It seems that I had failed to look behind me before taking the shots. Good thing I didn’t understand Dutch. I’m sure the man was excitedly commenting on his upcoming journey to the United States and not about the nut bag who just blinded him.
Fast forward two hours and we find Angie watching a movie while wearing the noise canceling headphones I had bought her. I was watching something else on my screen as I noticed Angie push up with her hands on the arm rest as she lifted herself slighly off the seat. “What on earth is she doing?” I thought. Then I felt the entire row of seats violently vibrate as the “personal gas” explosion erupted suddenly. I looked at Angie in shock and she looked back at me innocently and said “What?” ”
“You just had a blowout!” I exclaimed.
“No one heard it” she said.
I reminded her that she was wearing noise cancelling headsets.
“Oh” was her reply as she stared at me with wide eyes.
I am sure this was a most remarkable trip for the Danish couple sitting right behind us. At least we lived up to the already negative opinions that most of Europe has of Americans.
A few years back, Angie was working with me on a volunteer construction project. It was very well organized and had a mandatory safety meeting for anyone coming onto the site. As this was Angie’s first day there she was scheduled for the 9am meeting. As the meeting time approached Angie decided to visit the “porta potty” first. This particular sight had several portable toilets on location along with some that were designated for women only. “Great!” thought Angie as she assumed these women only potties would be “urinal free”, seeing as they were for the women only. She was sadly disappointed upon entering as the usual funnel type thing was hanging off to the side of the seating area. It would be good to point out at this stage of the story that Angie is a “hoverer” when it comes to using public toilets. She was so obsessed to keeping herself as far away from the “man funnel” as possible she wasn’t paying close attention to the main reason for her visit to this plastic potty palace. When she was finished she noticed the floor was shining as she was getting her pants back up and then she noticed that her pants were soaking wet. This is when she realized that she had neglected to lift the toilet lid.
I recently had a horrifying experience with these portable potties from Hades. I have always had an issue with using any public toilet let alone these plastic waste depositories. When absolutely necessary I would use them for #1 only. For any other purpose I will only use the toilet in my home or, if traveling, in my hotel room. I would rather self implode than share a bare cheeked seat with an unknown construction worker with the Roach Coach Trots. Yes, they all provide “potty protectors” but we all know that the only good they do is stick to your bottom as you try to get up.
In this instance I was working on a large commercial construction site in San Francisco that had three portable toilets for the workers. As the workers were constantly eating from the local ptomaine palace that visited the site daily the condition of these toilets were rather gruesome. On this particular day I must have eaten something toxic as my inner workings were starting to rebel. It was then I realized that my worst nightmares were about to come true. I hurried over to the toilet as the inner eruptions were getting closer and closer together, not unlike the onset of birth pangs. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the portable toilet I chose was recently serviced and was sparkling clean. I cautiously lifted the toilet lid and was delighted to see only a thin blue layer of liquid sanitizer. “Huzzah!” I thought and proceeded to prepare my self for the evacuation of evil that was dwelling in my now spasmodic lower bowel. My elation was quickly turned to horror upon the first explosion. That thin layer of sanitizing liquid suddenly splashed up upon all things that were covering the toilet seat opening while turning all those exposed parts into a smurf. The subsequent explosions only made it worse. I must have used a third of a roll of toilet paper trying to clean off my now very cold and wet nether regions. At the hotel I stood in the shower with streaming hot water hitting my backside for almost an hour while wondering if they made a aerosol can of Lysol that could spray upside down.