Conveniences

We got out in the cool of the evening, having given up hopes of a good thunderstorm. Walked a mile around several blocks. They make city blocks big in this part of the world. Stopped to nose around a pretty, if very new-agey, book store with snooty cafe/restaurant attached. The restrooms became of interest to me when we walked in, and I hurried to them. I knew them to be well maintained, as you would expect.

Two women chatted near the sinks when I slunk into the stall. I thought about warning them, but there was no lull in their private conversation, so I figured they'd get the hint eventually. At the first disgusting gassy noise, they did. "Let's go get a table... " Yes, I thought, you probably want to do that rather quickly.

It's times like this I am glad I endured the utter lack of actual privacy that is the military. So I can shrink down my perception of the universe to my own skin, and no further. Comes of having to produce witnessed drug samples, and living so close to others - under discipline. No space for squeamishness or fastidiousness. The body finally decides that, yes, it can function, despite being observed and cramped, style be damned.

At the end of bivouac in Basic, my gut got in a knot. Because the latrines on bivouac were three holers, no partitions at all, and we could not go in alone. So while the rest of the company partied in a cinderblock building in an allowed mocking of the Drill Sergeants, with the dark around me, I found the most beautiful port-a-potty. In the dark, it was clean, private, and with the wind howling, out of earshot as well. My gut and I reached an understanding that night. I wouldn't ask it to perform in public after a week of cold, bad food, little sleep, and dehydration. And given a moment alone, it would move quickly and do what needed to be done.

I've since been much more tolerant of those convenient conveniences.