I love port potties and I’m not afraid to admit it. Yep, I said it. Those smelly, rainbow colored contraptions are my friend. I never get poison ivy when I visit them, and have yet to contract any stds from them. So hey, they are A ok in my opinion! Although I am partial to one in particular. All of my running crew here in the Ocean State know which one I am referring to. It’s big and red, stocked with TP, AND hand sanitizer. The total package. It also happens to stand right smack in the center of my most frequented running route. This I will not disclose for fear of overuse. Much like Pavlov’s classic experiment, this porta john has become my bell. I am conditioned. I descend that hill and it’s on. When the construction of the house by which my protection from the cold, and provider of privacy is transported to another lucky location for new runners to enjoy, I will morn its loss. Well, not really, but it will suck, and my a$$ will probably be seen from the woods due to the current lack of foliage. Now I know what you must be thinking, that’s wack Amber! Those pits of poo and piss are nothing more than cesspools of bacteria and funk. To this I respond: “I am thankful you feel that way, increases my odds of finding a decent toilet.”
Ok, at this point you may have lost interest in my ramblings, but if not you are probably a runner, cyclist, or parent of young children. You know what I’m talking about don’t you! God bless those porta potties, and a special thank you to the kind contractors who share theirs with me several times a week. Character building strikes again, in an unexpected way!