Poo, Piss and Pine-Sol™ - Part II
No one in their right mind ever wanted to empty the honeybucket. It was a task inherently stomach-turning and fraught with danger. Unfortunately, since three gallons of excreta and Pine-Sol weight a fair bit, most women would defer to the male of the species whose musculature is such as to limit chances of a trip, slip or other mishap on the way out to the road (or so I was told).
Now anyone with half a brain would undertake this chore when the contents of the bag were less than a quarter-full. This way, you would really have to peer deep into the bowels of the container to actually see something.
In our household, we were not that smart. We would wait until the level was so high that there was scarcely an inch between half a week's former meals and beers and our butts sagging beneath the toilet seat. If you felt splash back, it was time to empty.
Here was the standard procedure. First step was prep: the route to the outside door was inspected to make sure there were no impediments which could either delay one's exit or cause a mishap. Then two twist ties were separated and placed near the toilet. Exhale, then inhale deeply, since it would take at least 30 seconds to close the deal. Finally, summon up enough courage to lift the toilet seat, and deftly pull up the first layer of plastic bag, bunch up the top, turn it and quickly attach the first twist tie, all with keeping your eyes open but diverted from the evil liquid, the sight of which could cause an involuntary retch and vomit, making the task nigh on impossible to undertake.
Most men would pause at this point, leave the bathroom, exhale, pour a stiff drink to calm themselves, and smile that the worst was over.
After a suitable respite, go back into the bathroom, lift up the second layer of plastic bag, bunch, twist and tie at a more leisurely rate. Then put on a parka and some boots, lift the bucket out of the commode by its handle (very important as we will see later this week), and carry it out onto the street side. Then "pour" the bags out of the bucket onto the snow, praying to God there are no leaks necessitating a gruesome washout of the galvanized pail.
Once back in the house, the pail was returned to the bathroom, two layers of plastic bags installed, Pine-Sol added and the whole placed back inside the commode.
Job done.
[Ed.'s Note: It would seem to me that this series of articles would make more sense if there were pictures of honeybuckets, since most of you probably have no idea WTF I'm talking about. I actually once took a picture of an incredibly disgusting one, but this has been removed from our family photo album for some reason. So I am counting on my large readership to email over any pix if they have them. You will be credited.]
Now anyone with half a brain would undertake this chore when the contents of the bag were less than a quarter-full. This way, you would really have to peer deep into the bowels of the container to actually see something.
In our household, we were not that smart. We would wait until the level was so high that there was scarcely an inch between half a week's former meals and beers and our butts sagging beneath the toilet seat. If you felt splash back, it was time to empty.
Here was the standard procedure. First step was prep: the route to the outside door was inspected to make sure there were no impediments which could either delay one's exit or cause a mishap. Then two twist ties were separated and placed near the toilet. Exhale, then inhale deeply, since it would take at least 30 seconds to close the deal. Finally, summon up enough courage to lift the toilet seat, and deftly pull up the first layer of plastic bag, bunch up the top, turn it and quickly attach the first twist tie, all with keeping your eyes open but diverted from the evil liquid, the sight of which could cause an involuntary retch and vomit, making the task nigh on impossible to undertake.
Most men would pause at this point, leave the bathroom, exhale, pour a stiff drink to calm themselves, and smile that the worst was over.
After a suitable respite, go back into the bathroom, lift up the second layer of plastic bag, bunch, twist and tie at a more leisurely rate. Then put on a parka and some boots, lift the bucket out of the commode by its handle (very important as we will see later this week), and carry it out onto the street side. Then "pour" the bags out of the bucket onto the snow, praying to God there are no leaks necessitating a gruesome washout of the galvanized pail.
Once back in the house, the pail was returned to the bathroom, two layers of plastic bags installed, Pine-Sol added and the whole placed back inside the commode.
Job done.
[Ed.'s Note: It would seem to me that this series of articles would make more sense if there were pictures of honeybuckets, since most of you probably have no idea WTF I'm talking about. I actually once took a picture of an incredibly disgusting one, but this has been removed from our family photo album for some reason. So I am counting on my large readership to email over any pix if they have them. You will be credited.]
posted by nanuk at 7:06 AM Permafrost
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