More Potty Memories
Why is it that so many of my Burning Man Memories involve Porta Potties?
There was the octogenarian I bumped into in line, who told me that three generations of her family were there.
There was Porta Potty tennis – a note written on the back of the door that said “Wanna play Porta Potty Tennis? Look left.” Then, there on the left panel, “Look right.” And there on the right, “Look left.”
One of the Porta Potties even had a whole childhood story written inside. A graffiti artist after my own heart.
One afternoon there was a girl standing sheepishly in front of one of the potties. I noticed that the potty in front of her was empty, but she was still there, just in front of it, doing that side-to-side I-hafta-pee dance. When she caught my eye, she said, “Could you help me with this?”
It was only then that I noticed she was wearing some kind of one piece chain mail thing that all hooked together in back. With all the crazy attire at Burning Man, I’d just kinda stopped noticing what people were wearing. I unhooked her and she scurried into the potty.
There was Slim, the guy I bumped into in line who remembered Fray Camp from years ago. What are the chances? He even have me a coveted pink chip, redeemable by anyone for sexual favors.
And then there was the day of the DPW parade, when trucks with giant flame throwers trolled the streets. I was in a Porta Potty, sitting down (ahem), when one truck released a thunderous explosion. The whole place shook and I briefly wondered what I’d look like blue.