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.
A Dimocrat politician finally reached full capacity and self-detonated.
ReplyDeleteMaybe so, but I'd think if one of them exploded, the door would have fallen off.
Delete:-D True. Maybe it was a small one?
DeleteConsidering how even the tiny ones are really full of crap, and there was no ladder, I'm thinking it was not a Democrat.
DeleteOh yuck to the power of 10. I absolutely loathe using a portable head. When circumstances demand using one I always endeavor to do my business as fast as possible so I can hold my breath while inside and try not to touch anything, with any part of my body. Even under the best of circumstances I still feel like I'm walking into a bubble of bodily waste and long for a shower afterward. After reading this I think I'm justified in my revulsion.
ReplyDeleteI loathe outhouses almost as much, which have the additional perk of being insect condos. When we go camping I have a 5 gallon bucket with a toilet seat I set up in the corner of the tent. I line it with disposable waste bags and go in that, and then all I have to do is drop the bag down the port a john. If the previous visitor left the seat up, as it usually seems to happen, then I can pitch my bag without even having to step in side. Leif used to laugh at me, but then, it's a lot harder for a girl to pee standing up. After several camping trips though I won him over to the prissy side of camping.
I was at a concert years ago. For some reason, the line at the men's port-a-can was long, and the women's wasn't. Not being bashful about such things, and seeing an opportunity, I quickly ducked into the women's port-a-can.
DeleteI only opened the door, and was forced to the back of the long line to the men's port-a-can. All I can say is the last brave women were standing above the seat, and they must have had no other option. I'd write I was disgusted, but that would be like describing a 100 hundred car freight train derailment as a small accident.
Brings back memories of a Stephen King short story out of his 2008 collection Just After Sunset, titled "A Very Tight Place", where the ...events... of the story take place in - you guessed it - a portocan.
ReplyDeleteI never read the story. Leave it to Stephen King to write a horror story about such things.
DeleteA testament to your blog readers (me included) that the crap bomb post has drawn the most comments. nobody has even mentioned the obvious evidence of Big Foot.
ReplyDeleteSomebody mentioned that, but the naysayers were convinced it was only a bear...
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