The Port-a-John

I work outdoors, often for weeks at a time. As a consequence, I've come to value the Port-a-John. You should too.

Manufactured of molded plastic and held upright by the weight of the blue disinfectant liquid in its holding tank, the average Port-a-John outdoor latrine includes both a urinal and a seated toilet. While many companies manufacture variations of the basic design — known as Port-o-Lets, Sani-Privy, Port-a-San, etc. — these value-added traits are factory standard to all:

• spring-loaded door
• toilet paper dispenser
• door latch that also serves to let those outside know "Occupied" or "Vacant" with easily understood red or green signs
• breathing vents near the roof, covered by fine screen or plastic lattice,
• a larger stovepipe vent for the holding tank itself. No gaseous build-up here.
• The construction of the tank, which takes up the rear bottom quarter of the structure, creates a good place to set a book or your glasses.

When compared to usual permanent outdoor latrines, Port-a-Johns are far superior. Not only are they sucked out and sprayed clean inside on a regular basis, when they become too old they can simply be replaced. This can't be said of hardened facilities, which collect funk over time and eventually create a horror-filled experience.

Port-a-Johns also never clog, overflow or require plunging. Yes, it can be unpleasant to look down into the collection tank, but this is easily covered up with a few stripes of toilet paper.

Unlike the porcelain or stainless steel toilets found in public restrooms, Port-a-John plastic is either nicely warmed by the outside sun or crisp and cold. Both can be pleasant, depending on taste.

Highly portable, it's not hard to lift a Port-a-John into the back of a truck with only three people and move it somewhere more convenient. (Drive carefully to prevent spillage.)

Among the Port-a-John's few drawbacks as an outdoor sanitary measure is its potential for tipping. Be sure yours is placed on level ground.

The Port-a-John's potential as a method of torture is also a bonus feature. When someone you dislike enters the toilet for some extended use, tie a ratchet strap — or any restraining mechanism — around the Port-a-John, get a pal for each side, and start rocking it back and forth and side to side. Harden your heart to any screaming inside and this can be great fun.

Try not to push the Port-a-John all the way over, especially so it falls on its door. This can get people in trouble.

In terms of cultural importance, Port-a-John technology enables any number of outdoor social events that would have been logistical nightmares otherwise: country fairs, raves, concerts, tribal gatherings, Boy Scout Jamborees, folk festivals, renaissance fairs, Civil War reenactments. All made sanitary by portable latrines and with less impact on the environment. Imagine how funky Woodstock must have been without the benefit of Port-a-Johns.

While I can't vouch for how naturally sound the disinfectant blue liquid is, the Port-a-John does save the ground from pit dug outhouses and hasty catholes which result in leakage into the surrounding water table and eventually drinking water — and are just nasty anyway.

When the event or project is through, regardless where it took place, all that needs to happen is the removal of however many plastic outhouses were required. Entertainment is freed of the bounds of plumbing.

(On a side note: We are defined by our methods of sanitation. I'm currently working in the Middle East and am completely baffled by local toilets, which consist of a porcelain hole in the floor framed by molded footpads. I assume this is convenient when wearing a long shirt or sari. It doesn't work so well with pants.

And then I wonder how confused Arabs are by Western methods when I find dusty footprints on the toilet seat of one of the Port-a-Johns on our construction site.)

To those looking for a new career, portable sanitation represents a surprising opportunity. For example, two years ago I took part in some equipment testing at White Sands Missile Range, an assignment that required a temporary raise in my clearance to complete.

Standing in view of strange R&D projects, we saw very few people during the week I was out in the New Mexico desert, about six kilometers from the Trinity Site.

The one mainstay, however, transcending the bounds of secret clearance, gate guards and No Photography signs was the Port-a-John man, who drove his sucker truck cheerfully down the deserted roads. He waved and grinned every time he passed.

And I realized that, in addition to scoring a fat government contract, the Port-a-John man is privy to special information. The Port-a-John man is in the know.

I respect that.

— James Stegall (james@sonewmedia.com)