Confessions of a Port-O-Let Attendant

My job’s not that different from being a restroom attendant in a swanky restaurant, really. Well, except for the smell. You never get used to the smell. And when I go home at night, neither does my wife. I usually sleep on the sofa. Or in the yard. At least until the neighbors start to complain, too.

My amenities are OK though, I guess. Mouthwash choices are generally a half-empty bottle of hotel-sized Ginger Scope (from Thailand) and Old Spice. Eh, whatever. Sometimes I even have those brown paper napkins instead of having to offer my shirttail for patrons to dry their hands on. Since it's usually not hand washing that facilitates the need for a drying implement, the days when I have brown paper napkins are generally better than those when I don’t.

The best part of my job is meeting people. Though I’ve learned that lots of them don’t enjoy engaging in conversation mid-stream or mid-squat. And they tend to complain about the somewhat abrasive properties of my Bulk-O Brand toilet paper. But they’re mostly good folk. They understand that I’m only trying to take care of business, just like them.

Surprisingly, you don’t see a lot of tips as a Port-O-Let attendant. Stoned concert-goers, drunk NASCAR fans and uptight Little Leaguers either: A) Don’t carry a lot of spare change; B) Are relatively tight with their money; or C) Don’t think my lifting the seat for them warrants a couple of quarters. Eh, whatever.

But it’s steady work. My family’s gotta eat just like people gotta excrete, right?

You're Doing It Wrong

And the Fourth of July will the third Tuesday of September.

Holy Dogface, Batman!

Mission accomplished. Well done, ladies.

Of course, it’s not so much the out-and-out kick-you-in-the-face ugliness or the Children of the Corn thousand-yard stare robotics, is it? It’s really more wondering just how hard-up a dude’s gotta be to marry one of these chicks – much less multiples! I mean, they live on a farm. After a while, you’d think the sheep and pigs would be more appealing.

Is this a religion or just some sort of kink that I haven’t heard of? I tried Googling “Laura Ingalls Fetish” and searching the episodes archives of The Jerry Springer Show for “Puritan Porn” but got nothing except sideways glances from the monitoring guys in my I.T. department. So I dunno.

What I do know is that I don’t care. And neither should you. There are far more important topics out there that deserve our attention. Like the Cross-Dressing Carny from Springer’s episode #3308.

Hooked on Phonic's

Cant spell?

A Bird Flying Into A Window Haiku

Look at me flying.
I soar so majestically.
Up … ouch. Now I’m dead.

This Just In

An actual headline banner on CNN.com today:


Well, thank goodness we won’t be treating a key element of the voting for our highest office in one of the most important elections in the history of our country like a disputed game of kickball. Apparently there's no Constitutional provision for the "Do-Over." Who knew? Besides, setting that kind of precedent now might lead to headlines like this in the future:

“North Korea Declares War on United States for Having Cooties!”

“Serial Killer Sentenced to a Week of Detention.”

“After Being Tagged by U.S. Commandos, Iraqi Insurgents Now ‘It.’”

“National Day of Mourning Declared Following Death of First Lady’s Hamster.”

“NFL Star Not Allowed to Play Until He Eats His Broccoli.”

“Florida Trades Miami to Cuba for a Joe DiMaggio Rookie Card, A Piece of Bazooka Gum and a Water Pistol.”

“Rock, Paper, Scissors to Decide Israeli-Palestinian Peace Talks.”

“Oil Prices Level Off After O.P.E.C. Deemed A Bunch of Doodie Heads.”