Oh Crap

by Simon L. Josher

Copyright© 2013 by Simon L. Josher

Flash Story: The misadventures of modernizing from the primitive lifestyle.

Tags: True Story   Humor  

This review is on a company that is no longer in business, but I see the same design being sold under a different name on European websites. But here is a story about the misadventures of modernizing.

When I was young my parents bought a small house that had an outhouse instead of an indoor bathroom. It was on a small lot of about 120'x150' in an established community.

The neighbors all had septic tanks installed but instead of a standard finger system, they simply ran the overflow into the open ditches that networked the back property lines and then into culverts along the streets.

When it came time to install our tank, the neighbors had fits and wanted to bring the health department into the discussion. Knowing that there was no way that we could get that accomplished and the city sewage lines were a couple miles away, my parents looked for an alternative solution. In the meantime the outhouse was our old standby.

This was getting frustrating because in the small cluster of homes, several of the women had far too little to do, so they filled their time watching the goings on at our house, in addition to other homes. I remember one summer day, the one neighbor who lived behind and adjacent to the property line, watched and then called Mom, asking if one of us were sick because we had used the outhouse several times that afternoon.

After chemical toilets were considered and discarded as un-applicable, composting also, Dad found a store that had THE ANSWER!!!! The salesman assured him that this toilet would have no smell and only a weekly maintenance of removing a tablespoon of dry odorless ash.

Praises be!!! No longer would we have the disgustingly bad choice between a chamber pot that had to be emptied or directly placing the excretory material directly in the outhouse. It was so incredibly wonderful that people would put them on their several hundred thousand dollar (at that time) yacht.

My father bought the dream machine called a "Destroilet" along with all the connections, triple wall stainless pipe and ordered yours truly to get it hooked up to the gas line.

This delightful contraption, as the sales pitch went, used a flow of natural gas burning to reduce the excretory output of a family of 5 to the afore mentioned dry ash while at the same time, pulling any possible smell and heat out the chimney and leaving the interior of the house in pristine excellence and smelling as delicately as the Queenk of England's boudoir.

As the installation came to a close, we anxiously awaited, all excretory canals filled and waiting to deposit their donation to the "giant step for mankind," in our new prize possession.

We plugged the unit into its own electrical outlet beside our gleaming white porcelain Destroilet. Then following the directions carefully, we lifted the lid and heard a muted fan come to life, to graciously conduct any aroma from the slightest toot to the most deafening chainsaw roaring bi-labial fricative outside without the least hesitation.

Outstanding, it was just as he had told us. The final test we were to perform was to take about 18" of toilet tissue, wad it up and drop it in and then close the lid for three minutes.

The lid was closed with great trepidation. Never in the course of the Olympic Games was a watch followed so closely. Finally with a few seconds left to run, the lid was anxiously lifted and sure enough there was nothing left but a slight dusting of ash. Our life was to be changed. We could poop in the house like real 'mericans rather some third world residents.

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