4 — Wednesday, July 13, 2022
The
first
time
I
remember
defecating outside of a toilet was when
I was four years old. My father and I,
along with my younger brother, were
on our way back from the Brooklyn
Children’s Museum via the B71 bus.
It was winter, probably February, and
falling sleet was visible through the
bus’s windows. We saw this weather
from near the front, facing the aisle, on
a row of three blue seats.
We must have stopped at a coffee
shop between the museum and the
bus ride, because I remember holding a
small cup in my hand. Six ounces of hot
chocolate, likely, all of which I drank
lukewarm within the span of a few
minutes. And then, several minutes
after that, the Rube Goldberg machine
that is the human digestive system was
triggered. I relayed the unfortunate
information to my father, that I had
just used the bathroom, on the bus.
“Is it pee, or poop?” was his next
question, in a voice that was a little too
loud for my own comfort. I affirmed
the latter, and the tempo and timbre
of his breathing began to melt into
that of exasperation. His head looked
to the floor in a gentle shake, and after
comprehending the gravity of the
situation, a sense of urgency induced
by
second-hand
embarrassment
clipped off any sense of gentleness in
his words. “Come on, let’s go.”
The walk of shame was short, only
about 10 feet to the front doors of
the bus. As a relatively new member
of society, I was exonerated for my
wrongdoings,
but
the collective eyes
of everyone else on
the bus looked down
the aisle mournfully
at the responsible
adult
in
this
scenario, imparting
my father with the
weight of societal
embarrassment. We
were let off a few
blocks later, on a
walking search for
a change of clothes
and a change of
scenario.
***
This past February, I sat down at a
cluster of chairs in the Michigan Union
with three then-strangers. The initial
awkwardnesses of unfamiliar faces
soon faded away — as we had a trip to
plan. In a few weeks, over our spring
break, we would be backpacking
at Zion National Park in southwest
Utah. We scrolled on our respective
laptops through images of soaring
When nature calls
When nature calls
By Oscar Nollette-Patulski, Statement Correspondent
Read more at michigandaily.com
Design by Reid Graham
cliff faces and alien rock formations,
all colored in a rugged sepia-red. We
scoured trails and itineraries, hoping
to replicate the perfect vacations of
others who pressed down paths in
hikes before us.
After the three hours, we had
booked campsites, created a day-
by-day itinerary and divided up
responsibility for the equipment that
would protect our lives for five days
in the wilderness.
It was then that the
topic of using the
bathroom came up.
One of our members,
Andrew, read aloud
from
the
park’s
website,
and
we
found out that we
must not only poop
in the woods, but
also carry out “all
human waste.”
We
looked
around
at
each
other, with nervous
smiles
gradually
emerging on our faces. There was
some repressed laughter, evidence of
past childhoods cracking the supposed
maturity that gave us the privilege of
going to college. Using the woods as a
restroom seemed unpleasant enough,
but the idea of carrying out what
our bodies had just expelled seemed
comically cruel.
Despite the logistical qualms of
Zion National Park’s outdoor-pooping
guidelines,
the
environmental
justification is great. The dry sand and
rock of the area’s desert environment
make for slow decomposition, and this
accumulation of unresolved waste can
have negative aesthetic and ecological
effects. As written in a Facebook
post by the park service, “We don’t
hike in your toilet, so don’t poop in
our canyon.” In the coming weeks,
we would have to mentally prepare
ourselves for the challenge ahead:
what happens when one of the most
private times in our day is made visible
for the natural world to see?
Design by Abby Schreck