Saturday, April 11, 2009

Anza Borrego: Bowels of the Military

I appreciate how remote this campsite is in the Anza Borrego Park. The northern places I have been told are very commercialized with running water, flushing toilets, showers, community centers, activities, and ranger stations. I much prefer the quieter southern parts where it is just you, and the open desert. The only thing that I don’t like is that our site does not have a toilet. It has an outhouse that is nasty but not so completely revolting as I expected.

So of course you try to hold it as long as possible, we even talked about planning meals and eating food that would constipate us so we could wait to go until after we left. That is until I remembered that tonight we are having chilli, which is defiantly not conducive to constipation. Mr. Rambo informed us that this idea of forced constipation in less than desirable circumstances is not something that was original to us. We were told that the army does this exact same thing with men who are on a march. Doctors give a pill that lets the men march without taking potty breaks and then when they get to a base they are given the counter pill, basically a laxative. I think there could be a great market for these pills because I am remembering all those concerts, and bars, and nasty situations where a pill would have been MUCH preferable then the bacteria infested bathrooms that I have been forced to use.

So trying to stay out of the outhouse as long as possible I finally had to succumb and go. As I sat trying to hold back my gag reflex at the smell I suddenly felt a big updraft of air from below and as the wind caressed my bare bottom I could not help but be SUPER uncomfortable which made it very hard to concentrate at the task at hand. I did however try to take some solstice in the fact that at least they are doing a chemical fee outhouse here so it is good at least good for the environment.

Once night falls all bets and visits to the outhouse are off because I have a pitch black night of open desert that I can use. There is something so free about walking out alone into the night, pulling down your pants and baring your naughty bits to nature. Peeing out in the open I feel so liberated, that is until I remember that in my inebriated state I forgot the toilet paper. Resigned to my toilet-paperless fate I shake it like a Polaroid picture.

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