People often question what price tag they would sell their dignity for. Apparently mine is $750/week - That's how much a portable toilet and shower hire costs. While getting my bathroom renovated, it became the ultimate battle between keeping money in my pocket by not hiring, or basically mooching bathroom facilities for an estimated 3-5 weeks from a range of sources. These would include unknowing caravan parks, near-freezing coastal beach showers, reigniting old friendships and suggesting prolonged sleep overs at their home, as well as knocking on the door of old roommates and even ex work colleagues. I obviously went for the mooching option and kept that sweet, cash in the pocket. Some call it being a stingy/using bitch - I call it being a money mogul.
At first it didn't seem so bad and I was having some memorable adventures and almost saw it as a game. You know, the classic game of 'where will I shower and shit tonight?' I went as far as reconnecting a friendship from someone I had not seen since I was 15, whose life had taken a drastic turn from when I knew her. She had since become a yoga teacher in India and Nepal, had a shaved head and apparently attains strong feelings towards not reproducing due to over population concerns. Good for her. Bathroom rating 5.5/10.
So with every stench and every bowel movement came a mission of where-to-next? Some days were easier than others. Living across from a local grocery shop made midday bogs a piece of cake. I had since mooched a shower that morning at the caravan park so I was good on the shower-front, so I decided to spend the night at my house. I felt an unsettling rumbling in my stomach. I looked at the time and it was almost 11pm. NOTHING was open. I couldn't reignite an old friendship at this time of night! That's when it dawned on me - I had to do a dump in my 600m2 suburbia AF backyard.
I tiptoed outside, the sensor light lit up and I squatted next to a small tree and well, there's no graceful to put it - dropped my guts. It was late and there no signs of life in my quiet cul-de-sac. Until my next door neighbour (that lives in a 2 story house which directly overlooks my backyard) must have slightly moved and set his sensor lights off while he was quietly relaxing in the dark on the back deck. We had a solid 2 seconds of eye contact and then I began screaming while still in the squat position, looking so guilty and vulnerable with my pants down, accompanied by a colossal dump casting its own shadow.
He was startled and abruptly stood up, smashing a glass. By this time I had pulled my pants up and ran inside. I could then hear his wife frantically running out on the deck asking what had happened because of all the screaming and smashed glass. I heard them scurrying into the house and obviously he would have told her he just caught me doing a shit in my own suburbia backyard at 11pm on a Tuesday night. I am mortified and I don't know how I am expected to co-exist with these people after that ordeal.
With every traumatic life event, there is always a lesson to be learnt. I took a valuable lesson away from this which was - sometimes it's better to spend the money and make your life and the life of those around you easier. That, or ring your friend who you know would appreciate the embarrassment of that story who then asked why I didn't just join the local 24/hr gym for bathroom facilities... only to once again highlight what a stingy, dumb arse I am.