Yard Duty

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A Romantic Engagement

This one we found on Awkward Family Photos. It appears to be a couple who has just become engaged, and are celebrating this romantically by smooching between charming "his" and "hers" porta-loos. What a way to begin their life of intimacy in true love and total lack of personal privacy. Compliments of U.S. Waste.

But those are some pretty cool-looking porta-potties.

Thanks to Agent K.

The Maine Attraction

In honor of the fact that a good friend of mine has recently moved to Portland, Maine, and a new friend, Agent Brian, has just relocated from Portland to San Francisco, we have this post from Agent Steve, our other Maine man. Here he is, in his own words:

While showing off parts of Maine to some people “from away,” I decided to treat them to the Maine Lobster Festival in Rockland. Besides showing them a little bit of Down East, it was a good stop to stretch our legs, admire Robert Indiana’s EAT sculpture atop the Farnsworth, watch people scarf down lobster and most importantly, find a public bathroom.

We didn’t have far to look. Before the fun rides, before the carney games and before the enormous tent of crustacean gobblers, in fact just twenty feet beyond the oddly unoccupied entrance booth were a slew of port-a-potties, including the first handicapped-accessible I’ve ever seen (I don’t get out much). Happily, it was only the second day of the festival for the warning sign within seemed dire. Sign notwithstanding, I’m pleased to report the facilities were clean and included functioning hand sanitizer dispensers. In retrospect, the placement was perfect: not next to the eating tent and quite close to the rides that spin you around.

That is a serious looking warning!

And we agree with Steve. "Handicapped accessible" portapotties are far superior to "regular" portapotties. Every portapotty should have that much space to move around in. And we, too, are big fans of the hand-washing stations we've seen at some porta-pottied events recently. Thanks, Steve! We'll be thinking of you and that tasty Maine lobster. Mmm...

All photos: Agent Steve

Into the Wilderness, with Toilets

What is there to say about camping? Well, there is the issue of toilets. A few days ago I went on a one-night camping trip that was an excursion into the "wilderness." And it was indeed wild. Except for the running faucet and sink at the cooking location, elaborate roof structures with picnic tables, and expertly cleared areas with trails. But at one point I did take a walk alone down a path in the morning, and could have sworn I heard some kind of growling coming from the bushes. Without making too much haste, I calmly turned around and walked back toward camp.

There is something about civilization, and I think one of those things is toilets. Or all manner of bathroom facilities. We liked being out there in the woods, with the cold and the pine needles, the dirt, and the fire that blew smoke in our hair and made us feel warm. But as much as we liked to be "roughing it," we liked our bathrooms, too. We liked the fact that the campsite came outfitted with full-on toilets in bathrooms with sinks - not even the bring-you-own-toilet-paper portapotties I've been used to, and was expecting. This was a whole new level of camping experience; somewhere between a real get-in-the-dirt excursion and a summer camp style set-up.



But, of course, the bathroom facilities were located far away from the tent set-up areas, on the other side of the parking lot, all the way up the hill. So, what to do when you wake up in the middle of the night, it's freezing cold, except for maybe one little corner of your sleeping bag, and your bladder is screaming to you?

You contemplate the long walk up the hill with your flashlight, whose batteries are dying. You think about the energy it will take to dress, and undress again, and how will you get back to sleep after that? Probably you should walk up the hill. And yet, it's pitch black. Who will see you? There is plenty of dirt and brush right here. Why don't you just...hmm.

Then you wake up in the morning and realize you weren't the only one. Because it turns out the dirt around here is pretty dry, but not too absorbent. And as you walk around the campsite, you notice little wet spots here and there among the trees.

Ah, nature...

I guess sometimes, in the wilderness, toilets are just too much trouble. But as much as I love it out in the woods, there's nothing like coming home to a good, hot shower.

In the Running

Well, ladies and gents, since Marathon Monday took place in Boston this week (Monday, April 20th), let’s talk about porta-potties. In case you didn’t know, the Boston Marathon is the oldest annual Marathon in the U.S., first held on Patriots’ Day, April 19th, 1897. It begins in Hopkinton, a small, residential town outside of Boston, and runners make the 26.2-mile haul into the city from there.

Porta potties are a big deal on race day. Radio producer Ian Chillag ran the race last year and checked in with NPR's Bryant Park Project from Hopkinton before he set off on the long run, and what did they discuss? Porta Potties.

Chillag: “Urine is actually a really huge part of Marathoning.”
BPP: “It's twenty-six miles of urine.”

Their words, not mine.

The original Marathon runner, Pheidippides, what did he do? When he ran to Athens to announce the victory of the Greeks over Persia, did he stop to take a piss? We’ll never know.

Clearly, Mr. P did not have rest stops with tables of people handing him little paper cups or bottles of water. That would have been too easy. And you can forget glucose-infused gels that taste of chocolate (a very weird experience). No. He ran and ran, delivered his message, and then he died. So the story goes.

A statue of the original Marathon runner, at the Louvre, collapsing at the end of his race, message in hand. I don't know who those people are in the back. Obviously, they think Pheidippides is hot.

These days, people try to keep Marathon runners living after the fact. And it helps to take care of bodily functions along the way. Of course, Marathon runners have been known to expel all kinds of things while running the race. Sometimes there is just no time to stop. And when you’re pushing you body that hard, well, maybe you lose some level of control. But by that point, it probably doesn’t even matter.

A friend of mine ran the Boston Marathon in 2005, and she described to me the corral feeling of waiting at the starting line - they actually call them "corrals" - being packed in one place with thousands of other people, and needing desperately to use a rest room at exactly the same time as everyone else. And that's just at the beginning.

I ran the San Francisco Marathon last August. My time was nowhere near the winner of the women’s race in Boston this year, who came in at 2:32:16. But I did get somewhat close to my goal, and, bottom line, I finished the race - without having to stop once for the porta-potties. That was probably my biggest goal right there.

I did have to use one before the race. But a nice person let me skip the huge line, however, since it was approximately 2 minutes before my scheduled departure time (of 5:45 a.m., mind you). I made it to the starting gate just as they were calling my start group.

The Boston Globe reported that the 2007 Boston Marathon had 600 porta-potties on the course. I'm thinking: Only 600? That doesn't sound like enough. But that's a fair amount. And I hate to think what clean-up is like, but my guess is it not as bad as if there were no porta-potties. Thank goodness for waste management engineers.

Photo Credit, top: Ian Chillag, NPR