What's On Your Floormats? Jumbo Shrimp? Seahorses?
So, I'm standin' here doin' my thing; waitin' for phones to ring so I can explain the difference between "Ford Parts" and a "Toyota Camry Windshield," and I start thinkin', "Hey, I sure am feelin' that big ol' Diet Dr. Pepper I had with my lunch..."
I step around the corner toward the can, and sure enough, the door is closed. Apparently my Diet Dr-P was a little slower kickin' in and somebody else's cheese, bananas, raw potatoes, fried fish, corn, and Metamucil hit him a little faster. So I decide to wait, maybe give "that part of my body" a little stretch so maybe next time I'll be able to wait a little longer -- After all, I am still givin' myself hell about those eight trips to the can in the less-than-half-hour wait at the dentist's office on Monday; even though most of that was anxiety.
I wasted some time, I checked some messages, I looked at some pictures, he was still in there. I waited, I paced, I tried to distract myself -- but this was no ordinary Diet Dr-P, it was a big one from Sonic with cherries and crushed ice and my kidneys were screamin'. We're talkin' about a good twenty-five or thirty minutes here. Does he have some kind of a serious problem? Look, I'z just kiddin' about that whole "building a ship in a bottle" thing, where the hell would he put it if he was? There's no cabinets in there, and we've never seen him carry it in or out; there's no ship, no bottle, no magazines, no Nintendo Gameboy, no knitting needles, and no yarn, so what the hell's goin' on in there while I'm out here dyin' to go pee???
I thought about goin' out back like I did the other morning, but when I got close to the door I could hear the kids playin' outside at the daycare next door. Even though there's a couple tree lines and a creek between here and there, I can still hear 'em, and I worry enough about somebody comin' out of our building and catchin' my ass in the act; there's no way I could "take care of business" while listening to all that -- it would make me all paranoid.
After a little more pacing and squirming, I (finally, duh) thought of the "Emergency Can" I put in the Ambulance and I told the ol' man I'd be right back. That's right, the "Twenty-Bago" is just about the real R-V deal now, 'cause it's got a nearly-self-contained shitter in it. I know that when it comes right down to it, clumping kitty litter just isn't very dignified, but come on, sittin' down behind a closed door is always better than squattin' out in the open or leanin' against a truck tire, right? Besides, this week just isn't a good week for that whole truck tire thing anyway.
Compared to a truck tire out on the yard, it wasn't too bad... Quiet, private, no worryin' about gettin' off-balance and fallin' in what I'd just made, no worryin' about somebody walkin' up and findin' me; just me and a locked door like God intended.
As cat owners know, clumping kitty litter requires maintainence. (Boy, here come the Googlers, huh?) It's only been in there a couple weeks, but I've learned a couple new things from the "Emergency Can" experience, I'll spare ya the major details and skip to the funny parts... Even the biggest of cats (my ShadowCat is twenty pounds, give or take a couple) makes a reasonably small "clump" at any given time. I, being way more than twenty pounds and having chugged a big Dr-P, make a very, very large "clump," large enough that it takes a second scooping to get it outta there.
So, I'd finished up and was relieved, relaxed, and happy; and I started in on the "Maintainence" portion of the ordeal. I went to the back door of the 'Bago, since it's virtually invisible with the trailer hooked on, and I'd flung the first scoopin' about thirty feet out toward the fence. I was almost home-free, just a little more clumpage to get outta there... I used to think my twenty-pound cat could really fling some kitty litter, but lemme tell ya, even though I've never been real good with the sports that involve throwing, a 5'6" woman can certainly fling for distance when it's truly called-for.
I scooped out the second half and was about to try for a repeat performance of my first throw, and when I stepped out of the gap to be sure I wasn't about to back-swing into the front of the trailer, there was My Dad with a rather shocked look on his face. Bless his heart, he didn't say a word; I guess he was checkin' to see where that first flyin' whatever had come from and once he realized what he'd almost walked up on, he just kept quiet. He knew I was waitin' to get into the bathroom, he knew I went outside for something and would "be right back," I guess it didn't click 'til he saw me with the scoop in my hand. Whups...
Seriously though, it can't be as bad as the time he went walkin' out there and found our Grandpa (his ol' man) tossin' a turd off of a floormat. I'd just been peein' in my own well-planned-out space; not pickin' a random car to lay a loaf in.
Shit on a car floormat, can you imagine??? That's just one more reason it's always important in this business to never, never, never ever put your hands into anyplace you can't look and see first.
I guess when ya get right down to it, that's always important no matter what you're doing -- look first, then reach.
More later... _\,,/