Tuesday, April 26, 2011

The Towel

I have a wonderful friend with whom I have gone of several trucking-type bike trips. By this I mean that miles is what it was all about. Stopping at tourist attractions was not our style of touring. It was gettting here to there STP (Sooner Than Possible). And we drove, and drove and saw much ditch pass by. And trees. All a blur really. But we had fun and saw lots of country side, and the odometer turning over at a fast rpm.
The mother of all bike trips happened in January of 2005. We toured through Bolivia, Argentina, Uruguay, Brazil and Paraguay. How it began will have to be saved for another time, but let me tell you about Brian.
Brian is maeyklich (Low German for "fussy"). He would tend to favor cooked meals coming out of his house. It had to be done his way, or he would sniff at it in curious criticism. I tried to serve him tapioca pudding one time, but it was not made the way he made it so it was not applauded with unreserved delight. Brian was a tad maeyklich. Fussy. Peculiar to detail.
Which brings me to the towel incident.
This is a true story, by the way, with no exagerrations.
Where in South America we were at this time I am not sure. I think it was in Brazil, but not sure. What I am sure of is that it was around lunch time and we needed two things: a shipping department and recieving station. We found a road side diner (that's the recieving station) where we would eat, but first Brian and I had to do some shipping, or unloading (ok, have a bowel movement, for those who can't read between the lines). Brian went first. Then I went. Or at least that was my intention. What greeted me at the toilet was not making me comfortable. There was the toilet, a be-day (rear end washer unit in plain words) and a towel (it think it was blue- at least I knew I was in the boy's washroom!). No toilet paper to be seen. Just a towel hanging over the cement dividing wall of the two privacy stalls. I assessed the situation and wondered how Brian had done it. Two things I had clearly etched in my mind: the towel was not for drying hands, and that towel was not coming in contact with my anal orfice. And besides I was not  touching that towel with my hands. If there is one thing I can't stand in Canada or US is when a public facility has a towel to dry one's hands on, and here in this public toilet I was to wipe the valley between my two butt cheeks with this public towel? Not in a million years! Not for the love of a woman! Not for anything was I to risk contracting feces-activated-rare-terminal-sicknesses- FARTS for short! I could imagine all the rectums this towel had met on a personal basis and mine was not signing that service record. I went back to the diner still needing very much to accomplish this shipping order. I asked Brian what he had done. Well, remember, this is fussy Brian! There is no way I thought he would have employed that towel to clean his rectal area. Yet I had not seen him retreat to get some tissue, and I for sure did not think he would not wipe, and I did not see a pair of Fruit of the Looms anywhere which meant he had decided to drive commando style, and there was not old Sears catalog in sight either. So I went to him to retrieve his method of finishing the job. Well, he had used the car wash to clean off his rear, and then yes he had taken the towel and dried off. Unbelievable! He said he had looked for a clean spot of the towel and used that area. Brian, it may have looked clean, but did it ever occur to you that it has just dried? How many paramecium, and other microscopic parasites were not just waiting for another victim to invade his privates? I could not believe Brian had done that. His butt was now listed as one of the who-knows-how-many-other-butts that had used that towel- which was, might I remind you- still prodominately blue. Folks, I was not going to do that. I find it traumatic to have to wipe my hands with a public towel, how was I going to use public toilet towels for wiping my precious dear rear. I grabbed a big hand full of those light weight table napkins from the diner and proceeded to the toilet, dropped what needed to be, and then using virgin paper I cleaned up the way it was meant to be. To theis day I still cannot believe dear buddy Brian used that towel for wiping his colon exit portal. More power to you, Brian.
Remember, Brian, there is a comment section on this blog that enables you to reply and get me back. Go for it. I look forward to it.
Thanks for not throwing in the towel, Brian.


  1. Thanks for sharing that memory. Wow, powerful stuff. As you know Chuck, the rear end has always been close to my heart. Yes, my heart is about a foot lower than the normal person :) Astalewego Amigo!

    Richard "De Hann" Friesen

  2. Well Richard "De Haan", what has come out of that orifice has intrigued doctors more than any other substance that is eliminated by any other aperture in our body. Freud may have had a point especially when one contemplates all the retention the white coats accumulate with debris coming forth from behind.

  3. If I haven't already, I will have to tell you (privately) that story of my need for release after a kidney biopsy I had some time ago. Di oma nurse (Paraphase-That pure nurse). Wonder if I need an umlowt on the "o"? Anyway, those nurses don't get paid enough. Good thing it was a male nurse. That's all I'll say for now

    Richard Simmons...maybe not

  4. I edited my last comment a little late and noticed a correction: "poor" nurse not pure although I would think that nurses are pretty clean. This guy wasn't pretty though. Neither am I. Yavol.

    P.S. Quite the procedure for posting comments on blogs. You can tell I don't do this very much.
    Just like ordering tickets online with having to retype that secret word and all. Actually I rarely understand those words ie "gramenst". Vote da grule es dote? Maybe I should go back to school.
    Richard Arthur Friesen