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Kukla, stop reading. This is the only warning you will get.
I run an ice station at a large event in the desert. It's staffed by volunteers. Volunteers who are crazy enough to not only come out into the desert in 100 degree heat sans air conditioning but also who are insane enough to do it where there is no shade except what you bring with you.
I also don't react well to the phrase "How dare you", "I dare you" "You wouldn't dare". I lit my head on fire last year and bear the scars of many burns. I have a mother who is perpetually wonderous that I managed to make it to my late twenties, let alone into my third decade. It's not a question of "You wouldn't dare". It's a question of "This is a game called 'What will they let us get away with' and I'm much better at it than you are."
With that in mind, the number one thing I bring with me every year is not suntan lotion. It is not water. First and foremost on my list: portapotty locks.
Let me explain.
At this event portapotties lines are created stretching up to thirty or more including handicapped spots, Those portapotties are cleaned in the morning by a local crew who come in, purge the nasty from the night before, restock everything, and go on to the next line. If you want to poop, you do it between the hours of 8 and 9AM before the sun really converts the lines of blue-and-white into Hell's Own Renuzit.
And my station is located about a quarter mile from portapotties, which means that as a vendor of food (ice is considered a food item, just FYI) I'm required by state health code to have a clean toilet and wash station at all times. I stock it with alcohol wash that can and is used as flame jelly by performers. We may be dusty-dirty everywhere else, but our hands and arms are CLEAN.
You can see where this is going. It's a 24/7 event - weeklong and it doesn't let up, and sometimes people alter their consciousness enough to not understand that painting with body fluids in a bad idea. That's why I always have a five-gallon bucket and kitty litter - as well as a headlamp. You simply don't go in there if you don't see clear walls at night. And if the buckeyboys haven't cleaned it in the morning the search for a clean portapotty can go for a while. Hence, I'm pretty goddamn protective of my crew's lone working portapotty and sanitation station. If that thing is in ANY way compromised, I have to shut down, and one third of the event doesn't get ice. Which one might think is a luxury item, but in 110 degree heat, not having ice is a health hazard. We stay open, people don't die from heat stroke. It is a staff-only potty for that reason - the customers can march their asses off to the quarter-mile to poop. This is for my volunteer crew who are VOLUNTEERING. Not you, random customer who really needs to pee, just this once. Times two thousand of you late pee-poop-planners. No thanks, I know the load limit and you don't get to add to it. I make exceptions for kids under 10 or twelve who are dancing, and I've been known to clear a line so I can haul two under-12 girls to my potties who simply didn't understand how long the wait was going to be.
So, one morning (yep, I'm a sucker for punishment and I run the morning shift) I come out to see the thin padlock of my station's potty wrenched off and a line of naked people clutching their stomachs. Locals from the people camped around my station who can't run the quarter mile to poo. I shoo some of them away, but two look at me with desperation in their eyes. I wave them in, and one woman comes out white and shaking and saying, "Oh god, I don't know if I can make it, but ANYTHING is better than that." Her boyfriend stumbled off and said, "I swore I wouldn't use the kitty litter."
I peered in, and yes, someone had recreated Mount Saint Helens in the bowl. It was so full that it had actually mounded on the sides and was caving in in the center*.
Since then I've made sure to request the handicap portapotties next to my station not because they have more room but because people don't think they can be morons in a handicap portapotty. I've also learned to keep notes on hand that say things like "Do Not Ruin The Event For Those Who Need This Potty" and slapping it on there - with the code to the lock written at eyelevel on the door for someone in a wheelchair.
Now, that's not the CS part of the whole thing. The CS part was the guy telling me that he was with X Guild, which was the group next to my station and that I had to give him the code to the potty because he was camped next door (which wasn't an official arm of the event) . "Actually, no, I don't".
We went back and forth like that for a while until i finally just said, "You want to really know why I don't give the code to people who tell me they are entitled to it?"
"YEAH YOU JACKASS. I WANNA SEE YOUR ABUSE OF POWER. COME ON. HOW DARE YOU KEEP SOMETHING THAT'S MEANT FOR ALL OF US!?"
So I unlocked the door and showed him The Cone of Poopy Mount Doom.
The best part was watching Mr. "My Balls Are Bigger Than Yours, Mr. Nazi PoopPlace Controller" gag and spray a medley of stomach fluids and partially-digested bacon across his neighbor's truck just as the portapotty guys showed up and scream at him for trying to get a key after they told him who the potty was for in the first place.
But really, the best quote was from the astounded portapotty guys, both of whom gave me the oddest look. We stood there until the older guy finally just stops and says, "Before we get this mess outta here, I just HAVE to ask."
"Who the hell does the CONE?"
*standard gray Honeybucket configuration. Look at the toilet lid's level, then add two feet. It was contained within the lid and seat, but it was...conical.
I run an ice station at a large event in the desert. It's staffed by volunteers. Volunteers who are crazy enough to not only come out into the desert in 100 degree heat sans air conditioning but also who are insane enough to do it where there is no shade except what you bring with you.
I also don't react well to the phrase "How dare you", "I dare you" "You wouldn't dare". I lit my head on fire last year and bear the scars of many burns. I have a mother who is perpetually wonderous that I managed to make it to my late twenties, let alone into my third decade. It's not a question of "You wouldn't dare". It's a question of "This is a game called 'What will they let us get away with' and I'm much better at it than you are."
With that in mind, the number one thing I bring with me every year is not suntan lotion. It is not water. First and foremost on my list: portapotty locks.
Let me explain.
At this event portapotties lines are created stretching up to thirty or more including handicapped spots, Those portapotties are cleaned in the morning by a local crew who come in, purge the nasty from the night before, restock everything, and go on to the next line. If you want to poop, you do it between the hours of 8 and 9AM before the sun really converts the lines of blue-and-white into Hell's Own Renuzit.
And my station is located about a quarter mile from portapotties, which means that as a vendor of food (ice is considered a food item, just FYI) I'm required by state health code to have a clean toilet and wash station at all times. I stock it with alcohol wash that can and is used as flame jelly by performers. We may be dusty-dirty everywhere else, but our hands and arms are CLEAN.
You can see where this is going. It's a 24/7 event - weeklong and it doesn't let up, and sometimes people alter their consciousness enough to not understand that painting with body fluids in a bad idea. That's why I always have a five-gallon bucket and kitty litter - as well as a headlamp. You simply don't go in there if you don't see clear walls at night. And if the buckeyboys haven't cleaned it in the morning the search for a clean portapotty can go for a while. Hence, I'm pretty goddamn protective of my crew's lone working portapotty and sanitation station. If that thing is in ANY way compromised, I have to shut down, and one third of the event doesn't get ice. Which one might think is a luxury item, but in 110 degree heat, not having ice is a health hazard. We stay open, people don't die from heat stroke. It is a staff-only potty for that reason - the customers can march their asses off to the quarter-mile to poop. This is for my volunteer crew who are VOLUNTEERING. Not you, random customer who really needs to pee, just this once. Times two thousand of you late pee-poop-planners. No thanks, I know the load limit and you don't get to add to it. I make exceptions for kids under 10 or twelve who are dancing, and I've been known to clear a line so I can haul two under-12 girls to my potties who simply didn't understand how long the wait was going to be.
So, one morning (yep, I'm a sucker for punishment and I run the morning shift) I come out to see the thin padlock of my station's potty wrenched off and a line of naked people clutching their stomachs. Locals from the people camped around my station who can't run the quarter mile to poo. I shoo some of them away, but two look at me with desperation in their eyes. I wave them in, and one woman comes out white and shaking and saying, "Oh god, I don't know if I can make it, but ANYTHING is better than that." Her boyfriend stumbled off and said, "I swore I wouldn't use the kitty litter."
I peered in, and yes, someone had recreated Mount Saint Helens in the bowl. It was so full that it had actually mounded on the sides and was caving in in the center*.
Since then I've made sure to request the handicap portapotties next to my station not because they have more room but because people don't think they can be morons in a handicap portapotty. I've also learned to keep notes on hand that say things like "Do Not Ruin The Event For Those Who Need This Potty" and slapping it on there - with the code to the lock written at eyelevel on the door for someone in a wheelchair.
Now, that's not the CS part of the whole thing. The CS part was the guy telling me that he was with X Guild, which was the group next to my station and that I had to give him the code to the potty because he was camped next door (which wasn't an official arm of the event) . "Actually, no, I don't".
We went back and forth like that for a while until i finally just said, "You want to really know why I don't give the code to people who tell me they are entitled to it?"
"YEAH YOU JACKASS. I WANNA SEE YOUR ABUSE OF POWER. COME ON. HOW DARE YOU KEEP SOMETHING THAT'S MEANT FOR ALL OF US!?"
So I unlocked the door and showed him The Cone of Poopy Mount Doom.
The best part was watching Mr. "My Balls Are Bigger Than Yours, Mr. Nazi PoopPlace Controller" gag and spray a medley of stomach fluids and partially-digested bacon across his neighbor's truck just as the portapotty guys showed up and scream at him for trying to get a key after they told him who the potty was for in the first place.
But really, the best quote was from the astounded portapotty guys, both of whom gave me the oddest look. We stood there until the older guy finally just stops and says, "Before we get this mess outta here, I just HAVE to ask."
"Who the hell does the CONE?"
*standard gray Honeybucket configuration. Look at the toilet lid's level, then add two feet. It was contained within the lid and seat, but it was...conical.
What event are we speaking of? I am intrigued.
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