After spending the majority of my weekend outside at the fair and tailgating for my college’s homecoming- I have been reminded once again as to why I prefer not drinking at public events.
Actually I should rephrase that- I was reminded, once again why I hate drinking and then having to use the restroom at public events.
Port o potties are the devil.
Can you think of a more disgusting area to experience a few seconds worth of having nothing between your special parts and bacteria-filled air?
In case it has been a while for you, or you live in a part of the world where port o potties garner enough respect for people not to take advantage- I’ll go into a little more detail about what the state of the port o potties looked like outside of the football game.
To begin with, people seem to lose all inhibitions when they are in line for a port o potty. I think as a rule people lose about 4 levels of class when they are waiting in line for a bathroom after drinking- but for a port o potty they automatically drop to about a level 8…1 being the classiest, 10 being a contestant on Jerry Springer.
For example, there was a very drunk girl behind us who was continuously yelling at people to hurry up.
“I’m 34 years old people! 34!! I can’t hold it like the rest of you.. Hurry UP! Respect your elders!!”
At one point, after vehemently criticizing my friend for smoking menthol cigarettes, she grabbed the cigarette from my friend’s hand and started smoking it. And she had a very large something gross on her lip. Ewww.
The line was never shorter than a twenty minute wait. After my fourth beer or so, I was pretty much just drinking one beer, then going to wait in line so I wouldn’t have to do the “pee dance,” or worse- do the “peed in my pants dance.” The port o potties were on a slant so that the corners of the stall were at least 5 empty beer cans deep. Of course you cannot flush a port o potty (unless there is a secret button that I don’t know about??) so the stench was just awful. After only a few hours, there wasn’t any toilet paper to speak of, so the smarter people were taking paper towels in with them, and presumably just tossing them onto the floor. There was also no sink, so I couldn’t look at a person without imaging a layer of gunk on their hands.
As bad as this sounds, the worst part of the situation was the layer of people’s business that was all over the floor… and on the seat.
Even early in the day, it was apparent that people were unaware of where their pee was going, but once it got dark, it became a bajillion times worse.
This is a particularly sensitive subject for me, as I will admit that I have had my own problems in this particular aspect of using a port o potty.
I’m not proud of this moment, but I have shared way worse information about myself, so what the hell.
It was a few years ago at the local St. Patrick Days parade. I was in a very long line, and had been waiting for close to twenty minutes. The urge was really starting to get to me and I was getting into that crazy state of mind where I was no longer thinking about what I was saying or doing. The only thing that was going on in my brain were visions of waterfalls and swimming pools, and toilets. Shiny clean white toilets with candles lining the sink nearby.
As I got closer to the front of the line, I noticed that one port o potty had a slight river flowing out from the small opening at the bottom. After a few seconds of watching it flow, I started tapping nearby strangers shoulders and goofily pointing to the port o potty that was leaking. I was quite tipsy at this point and probably started yelling phrases like “That girl is peeing the Amazon and missing toilet!!” I was partially jealous at the amount of liquid that this girl was emitting from her body when I wanted nothing more than to have my turn, but the more abrasive part of myself was content with laughing loudly at the fact that she had so obviously miscalculated her squat.
As she exited the bathroom, the crowd started laughing and attempted to give the girl high-fives, but she ran away in what I can only imagine, was a drunken shame.
Well you know what they say, karma’s a bitch.
When I finally got my turn, I went into the stall and had to deal with the difficulties of being a girl in a bathroom where sitting down would be an eternal sin. By this point I had to go very very badly… Add in the logistics of squatting in a very enclosed space where there is nothing to hold on to… and the odds are against you.
I guess I must have used a little too much power and simultaneously pulled my shirt down a little too far as I put my hands on my knees, because what happened in that little box of filth was enough to send anyone into a fit of tears.
Yes, it’s true.
I somehow peed my shirt. The entire bottom half of my shirt was wet, and I had no sink in which to play it off as water. And by making myself the center of attention by making fun of the river pee-er, there was no way I could walk away unnoticed.
So you can see why, after my port o potty pee fail, I really try to avoid them at all costs… for more reasons than one.
Excuse me while I go hang my head in shame.
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