“Tell you what I’ve noticed about the toilets,” Tracey said as she arrived back at the bus where I was changing a tyre on one of the kids’ bikes. It wasn’t going particularly well, I admit, and there were a lot of tools spread out around me, but a mere half hour later the bike was able to be ridden and only fifteen minutes after that it could be ridden without the chain coming off. “While I’m waiting for the kids to finish it’s a great place to meet people.”
And as she’d just got us invited to a group BBQ with a heap of other family travellers parked up here in the Mount Gambier show grounds it was hard to fault here on her loo revelation.
Whereas I’ve noticed something completely different about the communal toilet blocks on our travels.
Only that morning the door in front of me rattled but, thankfully, held shut. Some of the locks we’ve encountered on cubicles wouldn’t have survived such a rigorous testing.
“Someone’s in there,” I heard another dad sleepily whisper to his young son while I sat contemplating life and planning my day. “Here’s one.”
Rookie, I thought to myself. Wait for it…
“Noooo,” came the predictable – at least to my thinking – response. “Nooooooooo.”
“Just pick another loo and use that one,” said the dad in a tone which clearly inferred he hadn’t had his morning cup of Joe yet and, in fact, he was only here because he’d lost a round of rock-scissors-paper in bed to his wife only minutes earlier. “Here’s one.”
If only it was that simple.
I could tell this dad didn’t have much experience with this nomadic lifestyle because otherwise he’d have known one of the first things you do when you arrive at a campsite is choose a dunny.
It’s an odd thing, how just when you think you’re casting off the shackles of society and hitting the road to be a bit wild and bohemian and unfettered, to discover you have a thing about going poo poo on the same potty. This isn’t a conscious thing – at least not at first. It just happens. In terms of universal laws it appears to be up there with gravity.
Initially, I too was unaware of this phenomenon. Then I noticed whether there were two or twelve available offices spaces, I’d end up perched on the same chair every time I tottled off to catch up with my paperwork.
I wouldn’t have even made the conscious connection until the day I arrived to find someone else was in what I at that moment mentally referred to as ‘my loo’, and surprised myself by the realisation I was severely put out.
To avoid ridicule I kept this revelation to myself until I began to suspect a couple of my kids were doing the same thing and actually broached the topic over dinner one night.
“ME TOO!!” the kids & Tracey shouted unanimously.
Well, it might not have been all of them yelling, but if anyone was silent I couldn’t hear them above the ruckus.
Since then I’ve done some research on which is the least used toilet. Yes, there are places these things are discussed. For men, you want the cubicle closest to the urinal. For women, closest to the entrance. You will never get that information out of your head. You’re welcome.
Meanwhile, we all had a wonderful time with the families here. All our kids amused each other and it was nice to meet new people doing the same thing we are without having to hang out at the dunnies like Tracey. Mind you, my dear wife is right about how social the toilet block is – I did manage to pick up on my way back to the bus.
After taking advantage of ‘my loo’ I stepped out of the mens into the crisp night.
“Hey, stranger,” said the deadset sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. “You looking for a good time?”
“No thank you,” I said, not even looking up from my phone. I didn’t have to. This particular woman had been trying to have her way with me ever since we got here. “I’m married.”
“Me too,” said Tracey, squeezing my ass cheek. “You don’t tell yours and I won’t tell mine.”
I really must ask her more questions about these friends she claims to be making while she’s waiting for the kids.
Raising a family on little more than laughs
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