In Case You've Wondered

My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.

If you're here for the stories, I started another blog:

One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.

I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

While We're On the Subject

We weren't, but it will drag you into reading further.

I'd say a tremendous percentage of my adult personal time was spent in a port-a-can. Not that I enjoy such things, but in the construction field, it's what's available and much better than wandering off into the woods. They're hot in the summer, cold in the winter, terrible to use if they're not cleaned regularly and usually have graffiti.

The graffiti is usually crude, but if the port-a-can is around electricians, the graffiti is clever. My favorite probably was written by an electrician:

"Kirk to Spock. No sign of intelligent life. Kirk out."

I bet you're wondering what brought on these thoughts. I have no idea, but I need to end this post with at least one story:

Years ago, we were working on widening a section of the interstate. We had a temporary field office and a port-a-can. The can was for all the workers, so I bumped the service to twice a week.

One morning, I went into the can right before I opened the field office. Sometime late the evening before, it was serviced and was now spotless. I thought to myself: "That's good. If I get an urge, the can will be clean."

After I shook out the crews, made my rounds and had another cup of coffee, the urge hit. Not just a little urge; an urge that demanded my immediate response.

I pulled up next to the port-a-can, opened the door and was amazed at what I found: Somebody must have exploded. There was crap everywhere. It was on the seat, the floor and up to eye level on the walls. Not only was it a terrible sight to behold, the stench was overwhelming.

I made a mad dash to my truck and managed to make it to a McDonald's before I too exploded.

I called the port-a-can company and asked for it to be cleaned as soon as possible. The young lady that I was speaking to remarked: "We just cleaned it."

I replied: "I think somebody had to have exploded."  and described what I observed.

A long pause followed. She eventually told me she would send out someone immediately.

So, I've finally managed to tell a story about a port-a-can. Is this important? No, but I did get your attention.


  1. As you probably know by now, I was raised as pure country. My first foray into a porta can was four years ago. OMG!! But the worst was yet to come. I picked up the "cake of soap" when I was finished. It didn't suds, but it had a nice scent. When I left, I held my hands up to Joe and said "Smell this!" He did. Then he turned green, and told me it was a urinal cake I had been rubbing on my hands.

    1. Your hands were germ free for at least three weeks after touching on of those urinal cakes. They're made of powerful chemicals and I personally am scared to death of them. I'm still convinced they led to the early demise of a friend's mother that was a clean freak and had them all over her house.

  2. Truly a fascinatingly disgusting story. While I have never encountered this particular level of disgusting, I have seen some interesting messes in bathrooms of all kinds. What I really can't help wondering is how can someone have such an episode and not be covered in it themselves when they're done. Then I stop myself and think, "Oh, Janie, don't go there."

    1. Some things are better left unknown.