Warning: This post contains technical and graphic descriptions of RV sewer function—and some potty talk.
If you've never taken an RV trip before, the one topic that is bound to scare you the most is sewage management. The scene of the sewage line exploding all over Robin Williams in his 2006 movie, RV, was amusing when I saw it the first time, but hit a little to close to home by the time were set to embark upon our RV adventure. Could something like that really happen? I wasn't about to find out. I read all of the instructions in the RV operation manual several times, but never having gone through the process myself, it was hard to visualize all of the necessary steps with the valves and the lines and whatnot. I decided that I was going to play this super-conservatively. Easy, right? If we just avoid putting any solids down the RV toilet, there won't be any chance of clogging the system. Brilliant. Disaster averted.
A week before we left on our trip, I informed the girls of my carefully conceived toilet rules:
Rule #1: You may only do #1.
Rule #2: There will be no #2.
I chuckled as I made the girls recite this pledge, proud that I had developed a foolproof plan and thinking that, at that moment anyway, I was the cleverest person alive....
...Then I was reminded that girls use toilet paper when they pee. Right. Toilet paper (TP) is a solid. The brilliance of my plan dimmed immediately. How do I keep the toilet paper from clogging the system? The thought of three women filling up the "black water tank" with unknown amounts of clogging fodder was terrifying. Shoot, I can't even avoid clogging the flush toilet in our house! Well, after a little searching I discovered that the kind of toilet paper you use is very important. TP labeled "RV" or "Marine" grade (and correspondingly more expensive) was not necessarily any better than the the normal stuff you can buy at the supermarket—as long as it's single-ply. I even tested the paper we bought by putting a few pieces in a jar of water and agitating the mixture. As promised by the online RV wizards, the wet paper rapidly morphed into a kind of gel-like suspension. The blue chemical packet you dump in there is supposed to aid with this too. My plan regained some of it's original luster.
But then, on day 1 of our trip, I heard the words that all parents dread when driving on the interstate highway: "Daddy, I have to go poop." Yeah. What you want. Grudgingly, I acquiesced. I mean, these are the moments when you really want the toilet on board, right?
Later that night, after the girls had their jammies on, I urged them to walk to the campground restrooms to do their before-bed toilet business. This suggestion was met with complete disdain by all three of my traveling companions. "Come on Dad! Those bathrooms are too far away," said the twins in unison. "And I don't feel safe about that, either," added Rachelle. I guess we could make an exception this time....."OK. But no pooping in there!" I ordered.
The next day I shared my fears with Rachelle about the impending sewage explosion. She said, "I have a confession to make. I use the RV toilet for #2 when you guys were at the pool, but I was to afraid to tell you, because you've been the Poop Nazi."
Wow. Wake up call. I guess my "go with the flow" intentions for this trip weren't really meshing with my sewage management program. "The whole attraction of taking an RV trip," she went on "is that you DON'T have to use the public restrooms and that you can shower and poop in private. That's kind of the whole point." "Well," I stammered, still sticking with my less-solids-is-better mantra, "what if you just used the public restrooms for 'routine poops' and save the RV toilet for 'atypical' poops." By now, Rachelle was almost on the floor with laughter, but between snorts she managed to reply, "And exactly what do you mean by 'routine poops'?" Finally appreciating how ludicrous this whole discussion had become I answered, "You know the kind when you know that you can just go in there and pop it right out and carry on with your day—routine. If you anticipate any particularly squirty, or stinky, or otherwise embarrassing poops, by all means, use the RV toilet." And thus concluded the most ridiculous conversation that I've ever had with my spouse.
It was clear what had to be done. I needed to conquer my fear of the RV sewage system so that we wouldn't be controlled by the Poop Nazi any longer. I goose-stepped up to the campground store and confessed my fears and ignorance to the RV supplies clerk. I can't tell you how relieved I was when she replied, "I've got to take care another customer for one more minute, sweetie, but when I get back, we're going to talk sewerage."
Later that night, after the girls had their jammies on, I urged them to walk to the campground restrooms to do their before-bed toilet business. This suggestion was met with complete disdain by all three of my traveling companions. "Come on Dad! Those bathrooms are too far away," said the twins in unison. "And I don't feel safe about that, either," added Rachelle. I guess we could make an exception this time....."OK. But no pooping in there!" I ordered.
The next day I shared my fears with Rachelle about the impending sewage explosion. She said, "I have a confession to make. I use the RV toilet for #2 when you guys were at the pool, but I was to afraid to tell you, because you've been the Poop Nazi."
Wow. Wake up call. I guess my "go with the flow" intentions for this trip weren't really meshing with my sewage management program. "The whole attraction of taking an RV trip," she went on "is that you DON'T have to use the public restrooms and that you can shower and poop in private. That's kind of the whole point." "Well," I stammered, still sticking with my less-solids-is-better mantra, "what if you just used the public restrooms for 'routine poops' and save the RV toilet for 'atypical' poops." By now, Rachelle was almost on the floor with laughter, but between snorts she managed to reply, "And exactly what do you mean by 'routine poops'?" Finally appreciating how ludicrous this whole discussion had become I answered, "You know the kind when you know that you can just go in there and pop it right out and carry on with your day—routine. If you anticipate any particularly squirty, or stinky, or otherwise embarrassing poops, by all means, use the RV toilet." And thus concluded the most ridiculous conversation that I've ever had with my spouse.
It was clear what had to be done. I needed to conquer my fear of the RV sewage system so that we wouldn't be controlled by the Poop Nazi any longer. I goose-stepped up to the campground store and confessed my fears and ignorance to the RV supplies clerk. I can't tell you how relieved I was when she replied, "I've got to take care another customer for one more minute, sweetie, but when I get back, we're going to talk sewerage."
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| Tom defeats the Poop Nazi |
Great Picture Tom! Glad the Pooperazzi caught you in action!
ReplyDeleteMagnus and Karen
i clearly am 4 years old as I found the potty & poop nazi talk purely hilarious. The mental pic of you & Rachelle discussing "routine" vs "pop right out" had me dying! Keep up the 'go-with-the-flow' & have a blast!!! Thanks for the laughs! Jamie & John
ReplyDeleteLOL! Rachelle is a Poopetrator! I, too, enjoyed the discussion of "routine" vs "atypical" poops, epecially because I can just hear your OCD kicking in!
ReplyDelete