Article Contributed on: 8/7/2006 11:39:19 PM
It is a truly torturous twist of fate that, at many times, our worst gastrointestinal distress comes when we are traveling. Whether due to altitude change (my theory), the affect of "travel food", or the differences in water quality from one municipality to the other, I find its occurrence is frequent enough to warrant naming this phenomenon: "Road Rump."
You will know "Road Rump" is setting in when you cannot finish one Sodoku puzzle between visits to the ol' water closet. Fortunately for me, it usually sets in after we have reached our destination. I hate stopping when I drive. If I could refuel in transit like bombers do and had some kind of elaborate funnel and tubing system for nature's call, I would never stop. This of course would have to be preceded by the perfection of suspended animation, as I'm sure the funnel thing is going to be a hard sell with Judy.
Some people are also known to suffer from "Road Block". This resides at the opposite end of the spectrum from "Road Rump" and is a close cousin to "Government Cheese Clutch." When it comes to the great "To poo or not to poo" debate of "Road Rump" versus "Road Block," I'd prefer not to. Why? Two words. Public restrooms.
Many public restrooms display housekeeping that would put a dung beetle of his lunch. Other than the housekeeping, there is also the issue of 50 grit toilet paper. Whether in a public restroom or in a hotel room, the paper is generally so rough that a navy ship could use it in the head and also for scraping barnacles from the hull. And what's with mounting the dispenser by my shins? You have to participate in public-pooper-pilates to get a decent handful off of the roll.
First, you bend at the waist and pull down with your arm straight (like the backswing of a bowling stroke) and away from the highly secure, theft-proof housing. I'm sorry to spoil your delusions, boys, but at my house, I use the stuff with the clouds quilted in it. It's made by little old ladies who know what toilet paper is supposed to feel like. Even so, I'm sure no one is going to filch my "personal, posterior, hygiene solution." Stealing your paper would be like breaking
in to prison. It's probably possible, but who, in their right mind, would do it?
Next you hope to get a decent handful because the 50 grit has the absorbency of, let's say, water. However, the texture is more that of a file. When the paperwork is finally finished, you pray to the deity of your choice that the fickle, public-commode god accepts your "offering." If not, wash quickly (if you can; you haven't had that much poo on your hands since you were two.), bail, and try to look innocent.
However, with all things both fine and foul, this too, will pass (get it? Pass! I slay me.) Remember, the journey of a thousand miles starts with but a single step. Just to be safe, though, make sure you pack the moist towelettes.