I can't remember if I wrote about this, so I'll write about about it again...or not.
It was early in the morning. We were working on the interstate, and I watched the the port-a-can being cleaned late the evening before. After arriving at work, I confirmed this, and went through the process of starting the day, positioning the crew, and making sure materials would arrive on time.
It was around 8:00 am, when I had the urge. The coffee worked its magic, and I had to go. With the knowledge the port-a-can was clean, I headed to the private refuge that only someone that works construction can understand. Understand what? The lack of odor, a feeling a few germs were defeated, and the comfort of knowing a snake might not be found.
I opened the door and was repulsed. If I didn't know better, I'd have sworn someone exploded. There was crap on the floor, seat, bench, and walls higher than by waist. It was as though some crap cannon was aimed, and fired, with the result of covering a substantial amount of the inside with crap.
I went to a local restaurant to avoid the port-a-can, and called the provider to explain my predicament. After I told the nice lady it appeared a crap bomb exploded, she immediately understood and it was cleaned before a few hours passed.
I really don't want to know what happened. I put that in the category of things I can't forget, but should.
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: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
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.