Several years ago I was travelling in Mexico with my then wife. Like many young hands, we were in a VW van equipped with a potty to provide for our fussy American preference for sanitation and privacy.

My wife and I had been quibbling all day, due to the stifling heat and humidity of the sea level jungle in which we had been camping. We took the road toward Mexico City, hoping that higher elevation would gain us some relief from the tropical heat.

On a switchback road several thousand feet above sea level, my dear wife announced the need to use the convenience, and lurched toward the rear of the van. I suggested that she wait until I could pull over, but she was resolute in her determination to attend to matters promptly.

From the back, I heard her irritable voice say, "Why's this sodding potty rocking?" I pondered, and realized that the potty was under pressure! It had been last used at sea level, and we had gained significant elevation. The bottom of the potty was bowed with pressure, causing the rocking. And, to my good wife's impending grief and mortification, the potty was nearly full.

A beat too late, I called back, "Honey don't flush..."

I was interrupted by a mighty "WHOOSH" and a slurpy noise.

Then silence. Then a horrible stench, and the unhappy sounds of my dear bride cursing like a Liverpool longshoreman. In the rear view mirror, I saw that the interior of the van was dripping with brown fluid. Since she had to face the potty to flush it, and since she hadn't put the lid down, my hapless wife had taken the full blast from the pressurized holding tank. She looked like Al Jolson in blackface.

Convulsed with laughter which was the proximate cause of our subsequent marital decline, I pulled over. My lady marched down the highway cursing and dripping. When I recovered my composure, I cleaned the van and picked up my luckless hitch-hiking wife. Our conversation was limited over the next few days, and never regained it's former gaiety and charm.

That pressurized potty took us out of the gene pool.

--> Several years ago I was travelling in Mexico with my then wife. Like many young Mexico hands, we were in a VW Van equipped with a porta-potty to provide for our more fussy American preference for sanitation and privacy.

My wife and I had been quibbling all day, probably because of the stifling heat and humidity at the sea level jungle in which we had been camping. We took to the road up toward Mexico City, hoping with higher elevation to gain some relief from the tropical heat.

An hour or so later, on a switchback road several thousand feet above sea level, my dear wife announced the need to use the convenience and lurched toward the rear of our van. I suggested she wait a moment until I could pull over, but nothing would deter her resolution to attend to matters promptly.

From the back I heard an irritable voice say, "Why's this sodding potty rocking?" I pondered and realized that the potty was under enormous pressure! It had been last used at sea level. The potty was rocking because bottom was bowed with pressure. And, to my good wife's impending grief and mortification, the potty was nearly full. A beat too late, I called back "Honey, don't flush ... " but was interrupted by a mighty "WHOOSH" with a kind of slurpy follow-up noise.

SILENCE. Then a horrible stench, and the unhappy sounds of my dear bride cursing like a Liverpool longshoreman. In the rear view mirror I saw that the interior of the van was dripping with brown fluid. Since she'd had to face the potty in order to flush it, and since she hadn't bothered to put the lid down,

my hapless wife had taken the full aerosol blast from the pressurized holding tank. She looked like Al Jolson in blackface.

Convulsed with laughter which was the proximate cause of our subsequent marital decline, I pulled over. My lady marched down the highway cursing and dripping. When I recovered my composure, I cleaned the van and picked up my luckless hitch-hiking wife. Our conversation was limited over the next few days and never regained it's former gaity and charm. The porta potty took us (italicize please) out of the gene pool.

Submitted on 02/06/2008

Submitted by: Anonymous
Reference: None - A Personal Misadventure

Copyright © 2008 DarwinAwards.com

Bruce said:
Neutral: Personal Account
The image of this had me laughing out loud. While there's no real self-selection here I'll still accept this as a PA just for the laugh factor. Thanks for sending it in.

Chip said:
Definitely Keep: Personal Account
Gee, do you think she was upset??? Thanks for the funny story.

James said:
Definitely Keep: Personal Account
Well, you DID warn her...! Whatever the case, a truly hilarious story!!! Thanks!

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