Looking for a Toilet in the New Mexico Desert
Nowhere To Go, Photo by Andrew
I look out the window at a wide-open, arid landscape that bears almost nothing growing taller than knee-height, aside from the occasional juniper bush or tumbleweed. I can’t help but remember a simpler time when I was growing up in the Midwest… where roads are lined with trees and bushes… where an emergency pit stop provides the cloak of shrubbery and luscious handfuls of thick green leaves. I look out my window again and see little more than cactus, rocks, and sand. I instinctively prod my jeans where the packet of tissues lives in my pocket.
Supplies? Check. Privacy? Not so much—unless you consider that there probably isn’t another person within ten miles of here, so really, what’s the diff? Los Alamos is not far away, I realized, that’s where they do all that nuclear research—so it’s quite possible I could show up, with dropped trou, on some Russian spy-satellite photos. Hmm. The next several minutes (and probably more brain power than I care to admit) were spent pondering such a situation, trying to decide if that should be a proud or embarrassing moment. I settle on the former, mostly because I like to make people laugh and I’m sure there’d be plenty of that.
Desert Dookie, Photo by Andrew
I think of all the times I’ve felt that private agonizing desperation in places where there is no nature nearby in which to relieve oneself like they do in the wild kingdom, and no available facilities like they’re supposed to use in the kingdom of mankind. The anguish and helplessness are unbearable to remember… unthinkable to experience.
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