My Review of That Porta Potty I Wasn’t Comfortable Enough to Shit In

I am not confident about much in life. With that said, I am 100% confident that the person who first said, “If you gotta go, you gotta go” had never seen a porta potty. You absolutely do not “gotta go” when using a porta potty. In fact, I have made a comprehensive list of all the places you can “go” instead of a porta potty. Unfortunately, the list expanded to over 452 (it’s 453) alternatives to a porta potty, so it is far too long to include in this review.

However, sometimes you are in a place where none of those 453 options are available, and there is only one identifiable option to unload into: a porta potty. This was the case for me tonight. I felt that unmistakable feeling deep in my gut and immediately batted my eyes back and forth, searching for any possible place to do my business. Heartbreakingly, the only thing my eyes could find was one single porta potty. I sighed, said a prayer, and made my way to it.

As I stood in front of the porta potty that held my fate, I noticed it had a door lock that had an “OPEN” invitation broadcasted on the outside. This is the only good thing about porta potties. I accepted the invitation, more out of necessity than out of anticipation. As I opened the door, I heard a crazed, panicked noise from inside. Despite the clear sign that the porta potty was open and unused, it was very much so not open and being used so I quickly shut the door and stood outside the porta potty. There is only one good thing about porta potties, and this one couldn’t even get it right.

After staring at my feet for roughly a minute and beginning to forget the situation I was in, a burly man waltzed out of the stall. In this moment, I was immediately flung back to Earth and remembered where I was and more devastatingly, what I was doing. The man glared at me with nothing short of apathy and walked over to me. He used his bear-like fists to grab me by my collar and pick me off the ground like the insignificant piece of garbage I am. “Next time, knock before you enter.” he warned me before dropping me from his grasp and walking away. Instead of heeding his warning and taking it to heart, all I could note was the fact that his hands had absolutely no remnants of the smell of hand sanitizer.

Upon entering the potty, I had an equally-aggressive confrontation with the barrage of smells coming from the porta potty toilet. I reflexively gagged and questioned what could possibly create a smell this offensively foul. Though once looking at the toilet, I realized what was creating the smell. I was upset that I didn't draw that conclusion immediately.

The only understated aspect of the toilet was the appearance — a glossy black finish. Now that I think about it, it might have been a matte finish and a collaboration of peoples’ sweat might have given it that glossy finish. I am unsure. But everything else about the toilet was incredibly over-the-top. From the smell to the contents inside the toilet, everything was exactly what you’d expect.

I looked at the toilet with pure fright. I contemplated my gameplan; was I going to hover over the toilet seat? Was I going to shroud the seat in toilet paper? Was I gonna stand above the toilet and see if I could aim my waste into the bowl? None of these options were appetizing, though it may be because there is no possible way to have an appetite in a porta potty.

I took a deep breath and swallowed my pride — as well as probably a lot of fecal matter in the air. I dropped my pants and turned, ready to sit on whatever the opposite of a throne is. But something turned in my brain. I realized where I was again, only this time, it was even more sobering. I didn’t have to do this; I didn’t have to shit in this awful excuse for a toilet. So I wasn’t going to.

I pulled my pants back up and breathed a sigh of relief. This awful experience was behind me. I wasn't going to embarrass myself by subjecting myself to this. Instead, I went over to the hand sanitizer dispenser, only to see that nothing came out. There was no hand sanitizer, meaning the burly man didn’t clean his hands before placing them all over my shirt.

I felt disgusting — my shirt was no cleaner than the toilet I’d just refused to use. My eyes grew weak and my lips began to quiver as I stared at what used to be my shirt; I didn’t know what it was now. Perhaps it was just a discarded rag that I threw over my body. Perhaps it was a community towel that everybody wiped their residue on. Perhaps it was still a shirt with a man’s shit hands on it. I wasn’t the one to make the decision on what it was.

Anyhow, I shit my pants immediately upon leaving the porta potty.

Porta Potty Score: ⭐️ ⭐️⭐️⭐️/⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (4/5)