The location: Clonmacnois Heritage Site, Ireland
The weather: Drizzly and cold
The day: Long, and in a serious hurry
The roads: narrow, windy and not a darn place to pull over anywhere
The fault: Really all my own
Here's my story:
We arrived at Clonmacnoise in the middle of an argument. The place had been on my father's list of things to do in Ireland, but we were running short on time to reach Dublin by dark. He wanted to give it up. I insisted, like seriously insisted, that we go.
We pulled in to the parking lot and my grandfather and I raced to the restroom building to find it locked. We then hurried to the visitor center to find all the bathrooms there were closed also due to an electrical outage. Holy crap, I had to pee. And PS, there is seriously, like seriously, no place to ever pull off the road in Ireland to pee.
I backed myself into a wooded area and had Cath stand guard on the parking lot side. Mid-stream, a family came walking behind me on the conveniently located walking path which had been obstructed from my view. That's slightly embarrassing, but that's not even the story.
We walked around and saw the sites. My poor grandfather was desperately searching for a restroom to no avail. The poor guy was in agony-he was desperate when I was desperate and he was still hanging on!
As we were leaving, I insisted that my grandfather go into the woods to pee. He said no, I said yes, he said no, I said yes. Finally, he gave in to me and disappeared into the woods. Cath got in the car behind John. I, as the navigator, got shotgun. And Jack took the spot behind me.
We started down the road and John asked for the yellow plastic folder that contained some maps and tourist sites' fee and time information. We were all searching about and my grandfather was the lucky winner. He struggled to put it out from under his feet, but eventually it gave way. He handed it over my right shoulder against my neck and it slid down my sweatshirt into my lap.
It took about two seconds.
"Dad, pull over."
"Where the hell am I going to pull over at? There's no GD place to pull over. (see road and day notes) We are never going to make it to Dublin at this rate!"
"Dad, pull over."
"I'm not pulling over. Hold your pee."
"Dad, pull over."
"I'm not pulling over damn it!"
"Dad, pull over! I'm covered in shit!" I was surprisingly very calm.
Sure enough, the car was eventually overrun with the distinct smell of feces-human, stranger to boot. When I sent my grandfather into the woods, it had been lost on me that everyone else arriving at Clonmacnoise was likely seeking out a place to pee (or vacate their bowels) as well. And my grandfather's eyesight wasn't what it used to be either.
I hopped out and used all the water bottles in the car to rinse my hair and skin then got back in. A few minutes down the road we happened upon a coffee shop that afforded us the opportunity to do a more thorough clean up. I calmly removed my sweatshirt, my only jacket (see weather note) and got to work. Cath volunteered her socks. We got them soapy and I cleaned the car and grandpa's shoes. My dad brought his dad some new pants. I balled up all my poop clothes and put them in my suitcase. Before you say you would have thrown them out, my sweatshirt represents my first marathon and I wasn't giving it up for shit-excuse the pun.
That night in the hotel I showered for at least a half hour. Cath was teasing me about the timing. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was covered in human feces today and felt dirty."
As I'm sitting here typing this I just keep thinking about the first time I was covered in stranger human feces. Yeah, believe it or not, I have another one of these stories. Do you want to hear it? How desperate are you? Seriously?
