Academic Papers

          I’m sorry to disturb you, good man, but do you happen to know where there is a decent bathroom here abouts?

 

          No? Not one?

 

          Oh, just the outhouse down the road, near the cabins, which every little critter has graced with their feces.

 

          Of course not! Why shouldn’t I be one of those little critters too?

​

          It isn’t the critters I’m scared of. I’ve seen plenty of them around and I have owned one or two throughout my life from rats to snakes to lizards. Okay, maybe I’ve owned a dozen or so…but who’s counting. That isn’t the problem, anyway. It’s that you expect me to use an outhouse…you know, the dank, dirty pits of hell that spilled out of someone else’s bowels. Where the space begins with a hot cloud of fetid air stinging your eyes the moment you open the rickety door that can’t save your privacy, let alone your body from those little critters.

​

          Are you sure there isn’t a bathroom with white porcelain toilets and clean sparkling tiles near by?

​

          I’m sure that most outhouses are clean…at least the ones with porta potty scrawled on its side…but what about that hole in the ground? Do you expect me to believe that the germs aren’t multiplying, waiting to leap onto my skin as I try not to touch a single surface in the grimy space? And what am I to do with the flies who can’t seem to escape the giant gap in the door that critters much larger than them can navigate through.

​

          Of course, I’m not scared of flies!

​

          But you have to admit that having them buzzing around your bare bum is quite disconcerting. Especially when you know that they’ve landed on the crap that is in the hole below and have wiped their filthy paws all over it…and now those paws have landed on my arm as they cheer me to get on with my day and provide them with a new treat to savour while I long for a suitable shower to wash their dirt off of me.

​

          Sir, I am not overreacting, and I know that not every fly is out to make a meal out of my backside or what comes out of it!

​

          However, what of those invisible germs that I already mentioned? I try to tiptoe in the space like Daniel sneaking past the lions but I’m positive I don’t cast such a heroic shape. Instead, I bump around, too feeble to even do battle using a toilet brush…if only I had one to fend off foul beasts and offended demons that I’m positive will come crawling from that pit at any moment. I try to narrowly avoid every surface as I hover over the hole and place my feet in such a way that my shoes won’t adhere too firmly to the sticky floor.

​

Have you ever wondered why it’s sticky, good sir?

​

          Of course, you haven’t because you haven’t grown up with stories running into your ears and taking rest in your head. Stories of people flinging their poop around, the stickiness you feel from their urine that missed the hole and ran down hill to feed the nearest river with a fresh supply of tainted water. I can see it now, the piles of excrement that floats along that little stream from body to outhouse floor, to the great outdoors.

 

          Oh no, is that stain on my shoe human excrement or did I just stumble in a patch of mud? Should I throw my shoes out because I know there isn’t anything that can be done to salvage them now!

 

          For that matter, is anything salvageable on my body? The hot air that greets me walking through the door becomes a steam room of fetid perfume, which clings to me. My hair should be shaved to spare it the travesty, my clothes burned at the soonest convenience, I’m not sure how it can be done, but I’m positive I’ll need to sheer my skin from my body until all you see is my insides.

​

          And speaking of insides…have you looked inside, under the seat, of this outhouse you keep sending me to? I say, not likely!

 

          “Don’t let the spiders and snakes crawl out of the hole and up inside of you?” the voice in my head sounds so much like my older brother, Shayne. Loud and obnoxious!

 

          “Don’t be stupid,” I reply to the memory of my brother. But older brothers are made to be stupid, especially when they make up silly little lies to fill their little siblings’ heads. Of course, I must admit that even little sisters like me can be stupid, especially when those little lies still affect her when she’s no longer a child and in her 40s instead.

​

          But sir, are you sure you don’t have a cleaner loo? Preferably one that doesn’t have snakes hiding inside, ready to bite my bottom the moment it hits the seat.

​

          And how do I even look around for those snakes and spiders lurking just inside? The lighting is never right in an outhouse. It’s filled with dark corners you just know some creature is lurking, waiting to devour you. And what of under the seat. Should I really gaze down the hole, at the sludge below, risking my stomach contents while trying to find that slithery snake?

​

          Oh, I know the story was made up by my brother, but it didn’t help the time he found a large thick spider and threw it into the outhouse I was in when I was eight. I didn’t know he’d tossed it in, only that it had landed in my lap with a meaty thunk before disappearing. I had no idea where it went…on the floor, in the hole…or worse, did it take up residence in the folds of my drawers! It had just disappeared and not knowing where caused me to scream and swear new curse words I hadn’t even realized I knew.

​

          Of course, I know that you wouldn’t do something like that to me, a perfect stranger, but sir, I am begging you…please, just guide me to a proper loo.

​

          I know this phobia is one I should overcome, especially when there is only an outhouse for miles around, but when it is combined with childhood stories, siblings being bullies, and a wave of germaphobia or two, how can I possibly take your directions to the outhouse you’ve indicated? I’m not scared…okay, maybe a little…maybe even more than a little, but I’m an adult who’s standing at that rickety outhouse door. Ready to go in and get on with the business at hand—except…

​

          Well, I should say thank you for the directions, good sir. But I’ll just have to wait until I find that cleaner loo.