It all began at the trailhead following his group’s weekly hike in the mountains. A vile odor rose from Ole’s right hiking boot. Somewhere along the trek he’d stepped in the leavings of a dog whose owner hadn’t picked up.
A nearby stream presented the opportunity to rinse the pungent excrement from his footwear. But before Ole could begin, their punctilious hike leader ordered everyone to board their rented bus for the two-hour trip home. He waved off entreaties from Ole about his predicament.
Within a few hours, the speeding bus had descended the mountain into mid-day temperatures near blazing hot, a stark contrast to the freezing temperatures at the trailhead that morning. The heat would have been less of an issue had the air conditioning on the aging bus not taken the day off.
As the heat intensified people sitting near Ole’s offensive footwear began glancing his way, their noses twitching with discomfort. Clearly, the soiled footwear needed urgent attention. The rising temperatures had also created an urgent need to shed the long underwear from his sweltering body, donned against the chilly morning.
He headed for the toilet at the back of the bus.
A sign inside the door informed occupants the light switch could be turned on once the latch was engaged. It performed as promised, at first. He was half disrobed when the light went out.
Ole’s search for the switch was complicated by the pitching and lurching of the bus, throwing him around and bouncing his partially clad body off the toilet walls. Eventually, he located the switch and turned on the light. He resumed disrobing. A few seconds later, it went off again.
Once more, Ole fumbled around in the dark for the switch as the bus careened its way homeward. By now he was half out of those long johns, with his outer clothing in the dark somewhere on the floor beneath his feet. That’s when the bus took a sharp lunge sideways, throwing him hard against a wall. Ole’s hip slammed into a button that flushed the toilet. Beneath the closed lid, it sounded like a 747 taking off.
Ole remembered another sign on the wall when he’d entered. It cautioned occupants to sit while doing their business, the wisdom of that advice now readily apparent. He decided to get dressed and then figure out how to clean the doggie detritus from his right boot, in the dark or not.
But first, being fastidious, he thought it prudent to wipe the seat before depositing his posterior. He lifted the lid. That’s when he learned two key facts: 1. the lid and the seat itself were dripping wet, and 2. the lid had been concealing a rush of air now screaming loudly skyward from the depths of the toilet bowl.
What to use to wipe it? Ole felt around in the dark until he found the toilet paper dispenser. He wiped the lid and the seat. Then he balled up the soaking wet remnants and pushed the button for a few more seconds of light.
Then came his next mistake: he tried to flush the wadded-up soaked toilet paper. Wrong! The intense wind that came screaming from the depths of the open toilet grabbed the soggy paper ball, flinging it to the ceiling where it stuck in a disambiguated mass. The wind also reversed the direction of the flushed water, with dire consequences. And that’s when the light went out again.
There he was, standing in the dark, his long johns down around his ankles, his body and clothes soaked with moisture of dubious origin ... his bushy hair dripping with that mysterious liquid concoction.
Through all of this, Ole’s right boot remained invidiously odiferous.
Wedging his body into a corner of the toilet, he struggled out of his long johns and donned his pants and shirt, both now dripping wet. Reluctantly, he stuffed his feet, clad in dripping socks, back into his hiking boots, and then located his semi-dry jacket hanging on the door.
For a fleeting moment Ole considered using the toilet for its intended purpose. He lifted the lid and then promptly abandoned the notion. The screeching wind was convincing; he knew his clothing would end up wearing anything he chose to deposit. Past experience with RV’s suggested the screeching wind might have been caused by a missing cover for the holding tank drain, allowing wind from the speeding bus direct passage into the toilet bowl.
Now soaked and disheveled, Ole felt around with his wet hands to locate the door latch. The light came on and this time stayed on … one final insult. With teeth clenched he headed down the aisle of the bus to the front, there to inform the driver about the malfunctioning toilet.
Damp and disgruntled, and with his wet long johns draped over one arm, he began making my way back in the swaying bus toward his seat under the curious gaze of fellow passengers. The driver chose that moment to announce over the intercom that the only toilet was now out of service. All eyes focused on Ole as the presumed culprit.
The best part of the return trip was that his 82-year-old seat partner stayed true to form. During bus trips he would install ear buds, and promptly fall asleep listening to his favored classical music. Mercifully, he obliged again.
At home, Ole would later confess it was easy to tell that he’d arrived. Outside on the front steps lay his discarded hiking boots, wet and continuing to smell disgustingly rank. Just inside the door lay his now semi-dry jacket, dropped in a heap in the front hallway beside the closet. On the stairs up to his bedroom slumped his damp shirt. And on the floor beside the merciful caress of a steaming shower was the rest of his clothing.
I’m so blessed to have an understanding spouse, he thought as water from the hot shower pelted down.
#
(Creative Non-Fiction)
James Osborne is the author of the Amazon #1 international bestseller THE ULTIMATE THREAT, an account of the rise and fall of the terrorist group ISIS. His four traditionally published books include the award-winning SECRET SHEPHERD, a suspense/mystery novel.
Osborne’s varied career includes investigative journalist, college teacher, army officer, corporate executive, business owner, and writer/editor. Examples his work can be found on his Amazon author’s page: www.amazon.com/author/jamesosborne
