The Porta- Potty and Zombie Connection

This is a retelling of a story previously recounted to my business associates, Chad and Brian.

My alter ego is a guy that has mastered the art of the "side job." In the gigantic list of "things ever done," I've checked a great deal of them off. Some have been repeatable activities, others are forever X'd out.

So there I was, a valet job for the La Crescenta Riding Club came around again on the calendar. Think "equestrian" and "money," because both are in high prominence here. The parking for this event tends to be dirty, unorganized and fast. The perks are always great catered food that are offered up in bounteous portions and the guys tending bar plied us with cold Coca-Colas like they were expecting something in return...y'know, they were kinda friendly for some reason. Anyway...

Sometime that evening, I was looking around for a restroom to do some resting in when a rent-a-cop pointed out the portable luxury bathroom suites. That's the only way to describe them. All my experience with those blue "thunder boxes" that are randomly found on construction sites have nothing on these beauties. The doors have a warning light indicating that someone else is inside and in the process of enjoying the lifestyle of the rich and famous. The floor is carpeted in that low-shag, business office-chic with a sink, mirror and vanity light rounding out this claustrophobic piece of paradise.

I headed for the door without a light on, stepped up to the high life and locked the door. The light was actually activated by another switch above the lock. The previous horse aficionado
that was in here before me evidently took some liberties with the toilet as the water (Yes! There was actually water in this wondrous portable throne rather than the typical bottomless pit to China) was flirting with the idea of making a waterfall over the rim. I made some mental calculations about where the waterline would be after I...you know. Anyway, I decided to live dangerously. I unzipped and let the good times roll.

While the fun was ongoing I was thinking that there wasn't the typical tank of water that cycled in a new bowlful. Sure enough, a entire collection of water closets started to shimmy ever-so-slightly. An external pump was responsible for the cycling of water into the bowl after flushing. How interesting, I thought. What was more interesting was the fact that the level in the bowl was rising, and not from me. The pump was causing a backflow and the water level was about to crest the rim.

The problem here was that I wasn't finished yet. It was like that one scene in Jurassic Park when a puddle of water shook with every step of the T-Rex and the shaking water was the indicator of impending doom. My doom was shaking a foot away from me.

The water began spilling over the back of the bowl, I called it a day and worked that zipper like a NASCAR pit crew member. The water was saturating the carpet. My belt has two of those metal prongs that fit in the holes and one was being stubborn. The water was inches from my shoes and I backed into the door. It was a few inches from my back anyway so my escape was short lived. I spun around and jammed my fingers at the lock and it spring free but the slow-moving, but the malicious zombie like-water was still lapping at my heels. The door wasn't opening, the water was probably tasting my shoes by then but I wasn't looking. It was that stupid extra latch that operated the the light that kept me trapped with the water of the undead.

I punched that latch and I sprang free through the door, the door swung back and my heart was a piston in my chest. I didn't look back. The monster inside was going to have to wait for another nouveau riche horse lover with too much to drink.