You guys! A TMI post that isn’t even TMI Thursday! I know you feel so blessed. You can probably skip reading this if you’d care to. Just a disclaimer.
NTKOG #52: The kind of free-spirited, “anything goes!” girl who — when trapped with pretty dire choices with regards to personal hygiene — chooses to use (ugh!) a Porta Potty.
I am: on the “refined and ladylike” scale somewhere way above “will use a porta potty” but apparently below “will blog about using said porta potty.”
I am not: ever going to use one of these things again. SPOILER ALERT.
The Scene: Salem, Halloween, early afternoon (before the whole city started reeking of Twizzlers and rum). I thought I was pretty familiar with the basic guiding principles of Salem, that great American symbol of the pilgrims’ progress: Puritanism, pre-determinism, hysteria, misogyny, etc, etc. But I had not realized that, as it sloughed off these old-school values, the city acquired an even more grim mantra: No. Public. Restrooms.
So early afternoon, I’ve been chugging water all day, and it dawns on me that the only relief option is a bank of Porta Potties lined up in the park. Usually in situations like this, I’d have two options: bust into a store, make a small purchase, and explain to the clerk (with increasing hysteria) that I’m three and a half months pregnant and need a restroom immediately; or else chug a few beers until I feel comfortable enough to, y’know, find a bush somewhere, because there’s something kind of pleasant about peeing outside when you’re drunk. But the city was crowded and besides, I’m TKOG. I told Sister I had to go and she locked eyes with me. “Porta Potty,” she said. “For the blog.”
Fair enough.
And while I’m not going to hit you with the details, a modest proposal, ladies, on the proper use and maintenance of a Porta Potty on public events days: can we all just agree to sit? Please? Because I know you all want to show off your pilates muscles and squat/hover abilities, but here’s the thing: when you squat, you’re going to miss. There is going to be urine all over the Porta Potty seat and the weird little plastic shelf thing and the floor and, ultimately, the shoes of the next person who’s going in there. The next person who — by the way — will be forced to squat. And miss. And decant a bladderful of urine all over the mess you’ve created. And so the cycle is bound to continue.
Keep in mind that this friggin’ atrocity was going on at 3pm, when people were still sober and actually trying to aim. I can’t imagine what those Porta Potties must have been by midnight. But I’m imagining a jarringly warm flood every time the doors were opened, like the blood pouring out of the elevators in The Shining. Except, y’know, scarier.
Holy fucking christ. I always imagined the first time I made contact with someone else’s fresh urine, said urine would be the product of one of my own children. Or I guess maybe a partner but he’d have to ask super super nicely and I’d really have to think about it and probably would not be wearing shoes or a cute outfit.
As soon as I was done, I stormed across town, found the one shop with a customers-only public restroom, and frantically offered the restroom attendant bribes in increasing dominations to unlock the men’s restroom so I could go in and wash my hands — which he let me, for free, because I think in his heart he knew that Hell hath no fury like a woman who desperately needs to run the hot water in a public restroom sink and scour every inch of exposed flesh off of her body.
The Verdict: Never the frig again. Never. Never. OMG NEVER.
Lessons I learned from this harrowing experience: 1) I will never again make fun of those girls who carry Purel and Kleenex in their purses everywhere they go; 2) huge public gatherings and music festivals are not for TKOG; 3) nor will I ever borrow shoes from the types of people who go to public gatherings and music festivals; 4) thank god for men who are fundamentally mystified by and scared of the myths of the whole female reproductive/urinary/pulsing mollusk female situation, because their ignorance and fear opens some dang doors. And they are public restroom doors. And it is, in this situation, good and noble.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
You broke the Cardinal Rule of public bathrooms: you never, ever, ever… sit. I don’t care if you’re fucking crippled – get someone to hold you over the toilet. NEVER SIT.
You actually sat in one of those things? Did your mother drop you on your head as a child? EVERYONE knows that you have to do the squat with superhuman strnegth in your thighs to keep you upright, ABOVE the seat, even if it means some of your own pee gets on yourslef or clothes. I mean, at least its your own pee and not someone else’s.
Reason #4,176 that I am happy to be male and not female. Ease of urination.
nonononono, you guys are missing the point of the story! I didn’t sit! I squatted! And everyone before me had squatted too and they had all MISSED THE TOILET because it is apparently impossible to aim while you squat!
Squatting is the enemy here! Squatting is what caused the Porta Potty to be puddled with urine! (Well, I’m guessing vodka helped, too.)
Look, I know it’s controversial, but I’m anti-squat, in large part due to situations like the one on Halloween: squatting = rampantly pissing all over the known universe. Sitting = not really a health risk anyway. Whatever germs exist on toilet seats can only survive as long as the seat is warm which, on a cold day in Boston, is like 2.3 milliseconds.
I would just rather be attacked by probably non-existent germs than walk around covered with urine — my own or anyone else’s. I — I don’t think that makes me crazy.
The problem is even if you managed to convince 100% of the female population to sit and not squat (good luck with that), unless your portabin is Girls only, you’ll get dudes in there hosing down the seat, the wall, the TP, whatever, all in the name of Port-a-protocol.
Port-a-Potty Manifesto excerpt:
“A non disgusting Port-a potty must be made disgusting, otherwise the universe will end or something.”
“Port-a-protocol” made me chuckle out loud.
In re: men and their non-stop need to pee all over the entire universe: this one had a built-in urinal that was separate from the toilet part, so that’s at least a semi-improvement. The real culprits here were definitely the ladies.
I’ve accepted that my stance is pretty unpopular, so I think I have to stick with my usual go-to plan: using a combination of hysteria and relentless TMI to force male clerks to let me into non-public store restrooms. It is the one true path to a light soul and a lighter bladder.
Moral of the story here is definitely: grow a penis (and not in the metaphorical MUT sense, either).
Sir, you have done Aesop proud with your keen understanding of morals and social mores.
Last time I used a port a pot, I actually was about seven months pregnant. And I still managed to squat even with twenty pounds sticking straight out my front throwing my balance off entirely.
I’m with you, anti-squat all the way. germs shmerms
Madam! Clearly you are a squat/balance savant — the exception, rather than the rule! Hopefully your excellent coordination got passed along to your children…
I’m with you, except coming from a small town, we sometimes are ultimately forced with the whole porta-potty situation. Especially being a soccer coach and traveling to other soccer fields with nothing but these nasty functions of society with no field/bush/tree in the background. Yes, it’s a sad day when that all occurs . . .
I HATE THE SQUAT. squatters absolutely RUIN bathrooms for the rest of us who aren’t hypochondriacs and are aware that the skin on our ass serves the same purpose as the skin on the rest of our bodies: namely, to PROTECT YOU FROM WEIRD SHIT, even the (potentially literal) shit you might encounter on a toilet seat. THAT IS WHY WE HAVE SKIN, LADIES. you will not catch herpes / swine flu / whatever you’re afraid of from a toilet seat. and if you DO think you might? USE ONE OF THOSE SEAT COVERS. and if even THAT is too much for your delicate heiny? JESUS CHRIST, WOMEN, CLEAN UP YOUR OWN URINE.
i, uh, feel sort of strongly on this subject.
You know what? I can’t believe noone has thought of this. Why DO we squat? Germs don’t come from the buns, they come from the pee. I would much rather have other bum germs on my bum, than pee on my bum.
But too bad we can’t all sit. Because even if it were a law, some bish would be worried about getting bum germs on her bum and the whole friggin squat to avoid pee pattern ensues.
I hate portopotties with a passion.
OMG. I apologize, dear, for not emphasizing in our time together, that one never ever uses a Porta Potty, even if one’s tummy turns to mush. One does not. You can get pregnant just from touching the handle of the Porta Potty door. You know that! Kleenex and Purex is mandatory for 21st Century life as we know it. I have failed you. Please don’t touch your sister.
I think you actually did instill that lesson pretty well: I was dredging through my memories and couldn’t ever remember using a Porta Potty. EVER!
Truly this falls in the list of “stuff I did for the blog and now know never to do again, even in the case of the apocalypse”.
LOL I volunteered to hold her purse the first time around, y’know, pre-Porta Potty. When we went searching for the 20th-century restroom throughout the mall (and then past the ice cream store, through the angry religious protesters, and then finally back to the ice cream store), I drew the line. Mommy, I promise that I did not touch her post-Porta Potty.
Dude, and she seriously freaked the fuck out of the CVS guy, and the ice cream store employee looked like he was going to cry (and he was a big burly man). Heh heh. For once, I didn’t scare anyone. 😉
lol, I left the whole CVS component out of this story because I figured that was really TMI. (Plus, Muscles basically said he’d stop reading my blog if I went on about GIRLY TRIBULATIONS.)
It was definitely the most hassle I’ve given employees in a while. But: totally worth it. I mean, dude.
Language, dear! Other people read this blog.
“Please don’t touch your sister” — LOL.
TKOG, you’ve come a long way from your classic strategy of “just don’t pee all day, probably forget about peeing altogether.” But maybe you’re better about staying hydrated nowadays.
Ok the post itself was certainly awesome, but the best part is your mom telling you not to touch your sister! Haha. Clearly you got your wit from your mama.
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You are officially my hero. The blowjob class? Yes. This escapade? If you had balls, they’d be OF STEEL.
I’ve never used a porta potty but I’ve also never squatted or hovered. I just sit. And yes, I am living proof that it’s okay. I don’t have the herp, gonorrhea, the hiv or any other horrid disease. I’m not radioactive, nor are my children deformed X men creatures. Well, I’ve never had kids, so scratch that.
Okay, so you’re going to tell me that if someone shits in a public toilet and reaches back to wipe her ass, and inadvertently smears poop on the seat – not big brown smears you can see and know to avoid, but microscopic shit flakes that you can’t see, you wouldn’t have a problem with your ass touching that??? I bet you guys are okay with walking out after washing your hands and grabbing the door handle too, huh? [NEVER do that. Take a paper towel to open it because odds are, a bunch of people didn’t wash their hands and then touched that handle before you]
Maybe I’m just hyper-sensitive because I have a major illness I’m trying to get a remission from but honestly, squat or sit, there are nasty things in public bathrooms, end of story.
There shouldn’t be a debate on squatting or sitting, but rather a call to arms for public bathrooms to be hosed down with bleach after every use. Heh.
Oh, dude, no question that public restrooms are nasty roiling cesspools of human filth. And obviously if you have reasons to be especially particular about shielding your immune system, then, dude, do whatever you need to do. Everyone should be able to do what they’re comfortable with. My problem is with people who, in indulging their own squatting needs, end up peeing all over the place. Because obviously that’s not okay for anyone.
Also, I’m not a paper towel user on the door handle (I am apparently a pretty germ-lax dude), but if the door opens outwards and I am alone in the restroom, I’ll usually give it a gentle ninja kick to open it. Because, hey, the bottoms of one’s shoes are a hygienic lost cause anyway, right?
I think most people can wipe their ass without smearing stuff on the seat. Besides, my ass usually doesn’t touch the part that poop would make contact with–it’s small. Besides, if it’s microscopic, does it really matter? I think we as a society have become a little too germ phobic. The paper towel thing seems overkill to me, too. I mean, who knows what germs the paper towel has on it?!
Just discovered your blog and it’s great! I especially love this post; you are extremely brave.
I’m a reader and not a commenter, but something (you can probably guess what) happened today that brought me back to comment on this post. I’m an anti-squatter and dread using the restroom at school because two out of three times there are fluids everywhere. Who does that? Well, today, I found out who. There was a line in the crowded restroom, so I waited politely for a stall until a very well-groomed girl stepped out of one on the end and I slid past her (it’s a small restroom) into the stall and realized…she had squatted. What to do? I turned and gave her a death stare in the mirror but didn’t say anything. I wondered if NTKOG would say something? I think next time the plan is to mutter a passive-aggressive “gross” (al la that girl you spit in front of) and get back in line to wait for the next stall to open up.
Ohhhh yuck! Didn’t she realize there was a line and somebody would find out her dirty little secret?! Too gross. If you miss the seat, you must at least wipe it down!
I have a feeling NTKOG, who can, on a well-warranted occasion, be a bit of a jerk, might have told her, loudly enough for everyone to hear: “Hey, work on your pilates muscles, princess. When you squat, you’re supposed to aim in the bowl, not all over the seat!”
Of course, a muttered “gross!” or “dude!” might be a bit of a nicer ploy… 😉
Oh God, this was hilarious. I have a similar aversion to PortaPotties because, um, ew. But, this year, I went tailgating for the first time (I know, I know – I missed that experience while in college, somehow) and drank lots of beers that weren’t mine and got so drunk that I obviously had to pee and finally I decided that I didn’t care.
For some reason, though, these PP’s were surprisingly clean and urine-free. So I used them like THREE TIMES that day and I did not die.
Moral of the story? Iowans are better peers.
or something.