They Even Have Them Here

Written By: Amy in her chair in Bettystown

In an effort to give you all something to laugh at, I'll share something that happened today on my walk…

I decided to go for a long walk today.  The sun was shining, the wind was blowing and the outside was beckoning.  Also, the forecast for the rest of the week looks like we may see some rain for the first time of our time here.  The weather has been amazing so a little rain is not going to be a downer.  But, before we become wet again, I wanted some of that sunshine.

I grab my backpack, fill up my go cup with tea and set off towards the village.  I gave myself 2 hours to be back at the house to start dinner.  I started out at a good clip and gained momentum and speed as I walked.  School had just let out so I had to share the sidewalks with teenagers, but other than that, it was just me, my go cup of tea, and the landscape here.  I walked right through town intending on taking the beach on my way home.

About 45 minutes later and an empty go cup, I had reached the next village south (Laytown) and decided to pop into O'Reilly's Supermarket to pay my electricity.  We pre-pay our electricity.  I haven't decided if I like it or not.  I do know that I'm way more conscious of how much electricity is being used in the house as a result of having to check the meter every other day to make sure there's enough money in the account.  We definitely use less now that we have to watch it like a hawk.  

Anyway, after buying a couple of newspapers and some gum, I decided to hunt down a toilet.  I try the local pub but it was closed.  The cafe was too crowded to get into.  So, at this point, I gotta go.  I head toward the beach thinking that I've seen public restrooms at the entry to the beach.  This is what I find:

It's a glorified port-a-potty.  I am known for my general disgust and distrust of public restrooms.  But, I loath and detest port-a-potty's.  They are no loftier than outhouses.  Heck, they are outhouses. They got a new name, but they are the same thing.  Gross, disgusting germ incubators that have urine and fecal particulates flying merrily in the air, on the walls in soon to be in your mouth and nose and on your hands.  The only saving grace is that this thing promises that it cleans itself after every use.  

The most horrifying part of this?  I find out that to use this thing, you have to pay.  Let me repeat, YOU HAVE TO PAY to get into the outhouse.  I mean, what sadist makes you pay to go to the bathroom?  By this time, there's no choice. It's either pay to go use this aluminum outhouse or let it dribble down my pants.

I put my 25 cents in and the door automatically opens.  When I step ink, my weight triggers the door to shut automatically behind me.  Nice touch.  I hang up my backpack, and look at the toilet.  First, it has no seat.  Second, it's wet.  Soaking wet.  Everywhere.  I hear my sister's voice at this point saying "Improvise, adapt, and overcome."  So, I drop trou and hover like Crystal taught me.  

At this point, I hear some people approaching the potty.  As I'm looking around I spy a couple of handles on the door.  Thinking one is a lock, I twist it.  Turns out, it's not a lock--it's a trigger to open the door.  This is not a good time for the door to open.  There are people right outside and I'm still in the hover position.  Frantically, I grab the handle again and energetically push the door closed.  It won't stay closed.  The door is still trying to open under my hand so now, I have to do everything one handed.  Which includes trying to find the toilet paper--which there isn't any.  But, then I remember that this is a self-cleaning potty and judging by the amount of water I saw on every surface, I know I've got to hurry before I get cleaned by this outhouse.  

I hurry the process along as much as I can one handed.  But, I can't manage to zip and re-button my pants one handed.  Then I hear it…the sound of approaching water.  I let the door swing open and bound out of that thing with my pants half zipped and not buttoned.  As calmly and with as much dignity as I can drum up, I finish dressing myself, put my backpack on and proceed to walk past my startled audience.  As I pass them, I bid them a cheerful good afternoon and make sure to look directly into their eyes.  I'm pretty sure Miss Manners would be proud.