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Thursday, September 18, 2014

My Epic Failure in a Porta-John: Scarred for Life

Hi there!
Half of Gabby has moved to a new kickass website! 

Read this article, in it’s updated version, HERE.


 The page that you are on right now (www.halfofgabby.blogspot.com) is no longer posting new articles and information. Half of Gabby has moved to www.halfofgabby.com and will continue to post new material regularly! In addition, all older articles have been updated on the new site!

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WARNING!!! This comical story contains adult language and content. Please do not read any further if you object to either one of those things.



Today I'm going to share with you a horrifyingly embarrassing story so that your day can suddenly seem like a good one. See how selfless I am? Well you all know that laughing is good for you, right? And I'm all about helping people get healthy. So yes, I'm going to share with you my traumatic and epic fail. I promise by the time you're done reading, you'll be very grateful this didn't happen to you.


Recently my husband, Jay, and I visited our friends in Georgia. We spent the weekend at a book festival helping my friend (who is an author) with her booth. 

So for two days, anytime nature decided to call, the tour of duty had to go down in a 200 degree Shit-Box. 

Did I mention we were in Georgia? In the summer? 

It was horrific... and not just for a girl. Even the guys were complaining. You seriously had to psych yourself up to make the trip to the Porta-John line-up. 

I thought I was going to end up with a bladder infection from holding it so long all weekend. I'd wait until I was only minutes away from pissing my pants before I finally accepted the fact that I had to drop my drawers in a boiling Shit-Pit.


By the start of the second day, all of my Porta-John visits had been fairly uneventful albeit disgusting. Well, you should know something about me... Uneventful is very uncommon for me. No matter where I go or who I'm with, at some point, something crazy happens. I swear to you that I try to hide from crazy but it finds me. It sniffs me out like a Bloodhound. I'm convinced the rare times I go somewhere and nothing out of the ordinary happens, it's just because the Cosmos and it's sick sense of humor is taking a nap.

Okay so onto the good stuff. So I've been holding it for over two hours and I'm going to burst if I don't make the dreaded trek. My husband walked me to the line of potties and then told me he'd be over at the Vietnam Memorial in the Courthouse Square. I inhaled deeply, held my breath, and ventured into the Stinking Inferno.

Slide the latch, check. Continue to not breathe, check. Instantly start profusely sweating, check. Okay, ya, let's get this over with as fast as possible. It's hotter than a bitch in here... and it smells like I'm standing in a turd carcass. 

I'm hovering like a ninja. Sorry, but not even 4,000 layers of toilet paper is enough barrier between my ass and the warfare that lives on that seat. So here I am with my pants below my knees, hovering like a frightened spacecraft, and bending forward so all the sweat drips on the ground and not down my face and neck. 




All of a sudden the door swings open! 



My door!! OPEN!!! 


I let out a loud gasp and along with it came a high-pitched shriek. I stood straight up with eyes as big as saucers. As I jerked upright, my already in progress pee stream split into 10 smaller streams. I was pissing all over myself, down my legs, on my pants, and all over my shoes. One stream was shooting straight out towards the man who was staring at me in shock. I'm not sure why in these moments, brains decide to stop working. It seems these would be the times you need them the most. It would've been really helpful at this point if my useless brain could've told me to shut the door... and to stop peeing. But no. 


All of the people waiting in line were staring with their mouths agape while they watched me piss all over the world. Let's not forget what they were also staring at. My most private of lady parts was on display for all of Georgia to see. While I was standing there half naked, I watched my out of control pee stream split and squirt like an octopus of hoses and suddenly time just froze. I became paralyzed with fear and I remember thinking to myself, 'I can never come back to Georgia.'

So after that Frozen-In-Time-OMG-This-Is-Really-Happening moment passes, I slammed the door shut and proceeded to hyperventilate. Okay I need to remind you here, in case you forgot, that hyperventilating involves a lot of deep breathing. And the air that I was breathing happened to be hot, humid shit particles from the bottomless pit of human droppings that was right behind me. It was grotesque. I'm gagging as I write this. 

I was soaking wet from sweat and piss, mostly piss, and I was panicked. I had to go out there and face everyone who saw my Coochie Maroo in all of it's urinating glory. Oh God, I wanted to die. 

I finally got the courage to venture out. But first I had to try to pull up my shorts, which were stuck to my legs. Do you have any idea how hard it is to pull already form-fitted shorts up sweaty, piss laden legs? It's right up there with trying to remove a sweaty sports bra. It's beyond difficult. And when you consider the fact that you have about two square feet of space in a steaming Shit-Box, it's pretty much impossible.

At this point, Jay has no idea this debacle has even occurred since he was across the street at the war monument. I wish he would have been there to jump in front of me when the door whipped open. He would've totally saved me. He's that kind of guy. The kind of guy that would let me piss all over his back while he blocked the horrific view of me spraying pee all over the place. He would've saved me from this unspeakable humiliation.

After what seemed to be an eternity, I finally got my pants up. God only knows what people were thinking when they heard me jumping up and down in there. But it was the only way I could heave my shorts up.  




Okay, Gabby, you HAVE to go out there. You're going to die of heat exhaustion if you don't. Just go out there, face the music, let the scorching, Georgian sun dry up your piss-soaked clothes, and move on with your life. It was working. I was talking myself into it. After psyching myself up to leave my Box of Horror, I slid the latch over to open the door. 

The door won't open!! OMG! The door won't open! 

THE DOOR WAS LOCKED FROM THE OUTSIDE!!!!

Omg what fresh hell am I living right now!? This door will NOT budge! OMFG!

So what do I do? I panic like a mutha, that's what I do. 

I took hold of the door latch with both hands and started frantically shaking it back and forth as hard as I possibly could. I mean hard. The entire Porta-John was rocking... And so were the Porta-Johns on either side of me (they were all attached in a long line). I can't even imagine what those poor bastards on either side of me were thinking when their Porta-Johns started rocking back and forth while they were in the middle of doing their own business.



Did I mention I was also screaming while I was trying to bust through the door? I was screaming like I was being murdered. This went on for minutes.


Finally some guy opens the door for me and stands there staring at me like I'm insane. Okay, in his defense I was absolutely drenched in sweat and piss with a beet red face from being overheated and screaming. I probably did look insane. More than insane. But come on, he was looking at me like I was the one who locked myself in. Hello? Not my fault! 

Just as I was stepping out of my Booth of Shame, Jay came running up to me. He looked me over very quickly as if he was scanning for the amount of damage that had happened. 

After asking me if I was alright he shook his head and said, "I heard all kinds of noise and then looked over and saw all of the Porta-Johns shaking. It looked like they were all going to fall over! I just knew. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was you... so I started running."



Yup, this is the kind of shit he married into. The kind of shit you can't prepare for. I tried to warn him in the beginning, I really did. 


I wonder how many nights my husband lies in bed and tries to plan his escape. Escape From Crazy Mountain.

Jay asked me why I didn't lock the door when I got in. I told him that I did and I was sure of it. It turns out I was right. I did lock the door. However, it would've been nice if I had made sure the door was completely shut before doing so. When I slid the lock over, it slid the whole way over making me believe it was locked but really it had slid the whole way over on the OUTSIDE of the door. 

I can't know for sure who locked me in there. Jay seems to think that it was the guy who opened the door in the first place. Jay thinks the guy was kind of in shock from what happened and wasn't thinking straight and just locked the outside latch so nobody else could open the door on me again. I disagree. 

First of all, even in a shocked state you have to know that by locking an outside latch, you're locking that person inside. Those outside latches are only there for hauling purposes, so the doors don't fly open when they are transporting them. Even a dumbass would realize he was trapping someone in there. 

Second of all, I think the guy was mad that I pissed on him. He probably locked me in there for payback. What a jerk. I hope his shoes smell like my urine forever. And every time he opens a Porta-John, for the rest of his life, I hope he has flashbacks of me pissing all over his life.

As for me, I will NEVER use a Porta-John again. I will pee my pants if I have to. If I have to lose my dignity, then it's going down according to my terms. I rather have people watch me piss on myself, with one pee stream running down my leg, while being fully clothed, and in open, breathable air than be standing half-naked in a 200 degree Box of Shit while pissing out of what seems to be 10 angry vaginas.




Being that I'm forever writing off Porta-Johns, which at times are one's only possible option concerning elimination, I'm sure at some point I'll have another embarrassing tale to tell involving some kind of soiling. But until then, I'll just be grateful I made it out of this one alive... and that I no longer smell like pee.



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Hanging out at the book festival with my incredibly talented friend, Jillian, BEFORE I soiled myself. Had she known I was going to be sitting in her booth covered in pee, she may have opted for me to not help sell her books. But if you know and love me, AND still decide to hang with me, you know there's always a chance of chaos and craziness making an appearance.


My husband, Jay. The brave man who has agreed to put up with the chaos and craziness... for life.



This pic was taken AFTER the incident... and he's still smiling! He's definitely a keeper!
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Wanna laugh some more? Check out these stories... Yes, this shit really happens to me.












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