Embarrassing memory

It's no secret. Portapottys (portable toilets) aren't appreciated for anything except their portable convenience. Find me a woman who doesn't cringe when she sees their looming presence and I'll assume she's an ex-con and they're considered a step up from the big-house johns. Something about their flimsy walls, their sticky floors, and their poor ventilation (not to mention any sanitary components or 1/16 ply t.p. that disintegrates even the possibility of precipitation...or the always-empty hand sanitizer...).

Well. 

This past June when we went to support Bj and some other family members as they crossed the finish line at the Wasatch Back RAGNAR event. In spirit of the event I opted for water instead of my usual "drink of death". Needless to say… There was no avoiding the dreaded dung-dungeon. I politely excuse myself from visiting family, and made the high stress walk to the line of Honeybuckets. I opted for the luxury stall (also known as a handicap stall). I stood staring at the door, pumping myself up and priming my lungs and my nose for the inevitable assault, and was shocked... No, stunned, when I wasn't thrown backwards as I opened the tightly hinged door. A chance was taken as I tentatively took a second to sniff... It actually smelled… Fruity! I wasn't thrown into a fit of gaggy convulsions! Not that I was looking forward to hovering while I relieved myself, but I was no longer dreading the next 60 seconds of my life. I made the necessary preparations… (pants need to be rolled down so they don't touch the floor, or pee-splattered toilet rim) and allowed my muscles to relax. Suddenly I heard a large POP as an outsider grabbed hold of the door handle and yanked hard enough to pull the door free of its plastic latch. In this kind of violation of privacy I would expect the natural response to be: cover up and say "occupied", or some Hollywood-practiced b.s. But, no. Not for me. 

I had never played out this scenario in my head. It had never been role-played in a health class, or taught during Sunday school. I was caught completely off guard and completely vulnerable and found out that in this exact scenario my natural response is to use magical powers and scream. It had to be magical powers because my hands pulsed towards the perpetrator and he was stunned backwards. Or... It could have been my scream that startled him into a retraction. It wasn't a high pitched shrill cry for help like you hear in freight scenes on the big screen. It was a low guttural scream that originated in the depths of my belly that rang out of every opening in my head. It continued until I was completely out of breath, and I was left stunned and the door was once again latched insecurely. That poor man probably needed to change his pants. 

I remained in the bathroom in complete shock at the experience. Not the exposure, but the scream. I don't know if I finished my business, but I do know that I stood pacing the open space, reserved for wheelchairs, with my un-sanitized hands clasped over my mouth to keep the laughter from escaping. (Plus I wanted any bystandards to dissipate before I gave them the chance to put a face to the scream.)

Have I mentioned I'm not a fan of portapotty's?