Dear John ,
You are ‘privy’ to wearing one of my favorite doors. I don’t give you nearly enough accolades for the times I’ve been delighted to see your door.
Hiking, biking, jogging, cross-country road trips … none would be as comfortable without finding your unlocked door right where I need you along the route.
I remember walking to Ellen’s outhouse at her cabin near Frisco, wondering about that moon carved in your door.
I admit, there aren’t many things creepier than listening to the creak in the hinges as I open your door, holding my breath against your stink; praying I won’t plop my sweet cheeks smack dab on a spider’s web; or fall butt first into that terrifying, dark hole.
Miss Norris, my 1967 10th grade French teacher, taught us about public restrooms in Paris called WCs (pronounced doo-bleu-vay-say) which stood for water closets – an odd name since there were no faucets or flushes. A WC consisted – then – of two connected open-air stalls with left and right foot outlines and a hole between, sheltered by wood siding high enough to shield your body as you dropped your trousers and squatted.
Fast forward to 2005 in a small Tuscan village as I exited the Italian version of a WC. An American tourist rushed towards me – arms flapping and alarm in her eyes, “Is it clean?”
“So so,” I responded, knowing she’d decide to ‘hold it’ rather than straddle those filthy feet outlines and bend knees into her squat.
My fondest memory of you, John, comes from our inaugural two-day, 150 mile MS (Multiple Sclerosis) Benefit bicycle ride. We’d trained May-June on 80 mile rides to condition ourselves for July’s grueling two-day fest.
As expected the 85+ degree sun, beating down from above and reflecting even more intensely off the pavement, drained us by the end of the first day.
Determined to beat the heat, as well as finish ahead of the dangerous afternoon thunderstorms, we began the second day’s ride at the crack of dawn. Fifteen miles into the ride, we approached our first support station. The long row of port-a-potties looked like this: except YOU were painted a dark green color.
Opening your door with my usual trepidation, I discovered not only was I the first to visit you that morning, John, but you were brand spanking new!
The sun barely risen; your pristine interior still cool and shaded; my saddle-sore bottom resting on your seemingly soft seat, I closed my eyes and sighed, “Heaven should feel this good.”
Thank you, John, for being there when I needed you.
- Flush toilets
- Pit Latrines
- Dry toilets
- Urine diversion toilets
Society and Culture:
- Anal cleansing habits
- Islamic toilet etiquette
- Toilet humour (apparently Brits enjoy this ‘humor’ more than Americans !
This post is linked to Norm Frampton’s Thursday Doors Challenge. Thank you, Norm!