Beware the Potty

The Captain
August 3, 2012

The Captain

Lives in: Indy
From: Cleveland, Ohio
Occupation: Education
Web: http://poopdeckcapt.wordpress.com/
Twitter: @acjlist
Facebook: creed.anthony.9

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Jetting away from the traditional Captain’s Log Entry – though my community is appropriately named the “Poop Deck”, this one is personal.  It does involve being a dad, but mainly it involves being a man to whom nature calls from time to time whilst in public.  So here it is…I fear the port o potty.

Ah, yes.  The convenience of a plastic fortress in which you may answer nature’s call with a thin veil of privacy while still in the company of what appears to be an entire city around you.  (My blood pressure is already up thinking about this.)  The port o potty is generally installed in places where large numbers of people arrive, AND (here’s the kicker) where there are bountiful amounts of food and beverage.

The port o potty can also become a prison.

We all know about the question of cleanliness that comes with the port o potty.  I’m not going to delve deeply into that, however, if you have ever taken a child into one the risks of being slimed by any number of unwanted variables seems to be magnified.  But the real danger is getting stuck in one.

I was locked in a port o potty at a very young age.

It was a time of innocence.  A time of play.  A time when I could play outside for what seemed like hours after dinner. but the rule was simple – “Once you come back in the house, you are in for the night.”

The neighbors had a yearly bash in their backyard that warranted the delivery of two port o potties.  Double the freedom.  When natured called, it was a simple decision.  The green fortress was an opportunity to continue to play.  I ran gleefully to the plastic rectangle of privacy and closed the door.  But before I could proceed, something told me to check the door.

It wasn’t just locked.  It was stuck.  My heart sunk and my fists started to bounce pound on the plastic walls.  I suddenly felt very hot.  The air was starting to disappear.  At the tender age of 6, I had already constructed the headline, “6 Year Old, Found In Port O Potty 10 Years Later”.  I thought I would get stuck there forever.  I feared I might perish in the potty.

What happened next is still a blur.  There were voices outside.  More than my father’s.  I had never been so happy to hear his voice.  The walls started to shake a bit, which if you have ever been in a port o potty is a scary thing even if it is newly delivered.  (By the way, what is the green liquid they put in those things anyways??  Grosses me out.) Suddenly, the door opened.  I fell out of the hole to freedom.  I think I may have kissed the ground like I had seen Bishop Desmond Tutu do on the news when he got off the plane.  I think my dad carried me the 300 yards to my house and my day was over.

The next morning I remember peering through the windows looking to see if they were still there.  My version of the Jabberwocky was not a monster.  It was, and still is, the port o potty.  A necessary evil, but beware the risks.

Beware, the port o potty, my friends.  The doors that lock, the germs that catch.

Proceed with caution.

Captain Out.

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