All About Participating in the Pottie Project

[Ratty]

Do it Robbi. There really is no one better suited for a job in that field.

[Savannah]

I just got off the phone with Rainwater James, he's going to hook me up w someone in the mechanized sewage treatment world. This is getting so fucking exciting! I also am seriously considering dropping $99 for the first volume of CSUS course on waste water management. James is saying that if I can get some credentials behind me, I could make a major impact on the clusterfuck that is baby wipes. This is such a huge change from where I was only 2 weeks ago! With my background in Social Science, teaching, and dirt level success at BM, I am swimming in aces!

I am now absolutely deluged with hope for my future!

This is beautiful news, Robbi!

$99 ain't too bad in the grand scheme of things. I hope you do it. You have experience in public education at a unique place that no one else can claim.

Were we just going to pretend that this awesome article didn't happen??

Meet the "Shit Queen of Burning Man," Commander of 1,400 Porta-Potties
http://valleywag.gawker.com/meet-the-sh ... 1629571967

The comments are even awesome (although please note, I did not--and will not--click on the unfiltered ones, because I'm not THAT trusting).

VultureChow started an entire thread dedicated to Robbidobbs' press...

Good. I saw the thread this morning, but must have missed its inception. In my excitement, I couldn't wait.

[Jovankat]

Congrats Robbi!I'm currently on the look out for a new career so I can fully appreciate how excited you must be at how nicely things are plopping in to place for you. Best of luck with it!

[FIGJAM]

Maybe try to get the anti-wipes message into the survival guide and the first timers guide!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[robbidobbs]

As far as I know it is. I'll check verbiage. Last time I checked they stated "handy wipes", and I req they call them wet wipes, as handy wipes are dish washing disposable cloths, not the butt wipes folks seem to enjoy.

[FIGJAM]

It's in there, but I think it needs to be more specific and dramatized.

[robbidobbs]

I'd have gutt wrenching detail if they'd let me. HazMatt has the call, and he's aware of the problem. It's up to me to shove it down throats.

[robbidobbs]

That's it. I'm calling a moratorium on pimped potties. This shit has got to stop!

[GummiBear]

You're the shit robbidobbs! Definitely do the training if you can! And drink more water...
In other news, jamming to end jamming could include a potty pimping etiquette plug (just like hovering right - the right way to do it is not to)

Also wanted to plop the jamming to end jamming idea into this thread.
This past burn I found the pottie banks to be an ideal spot for jamming acoustic instruments (something I find to be appreciated on playa). Naturally, excrementory etiquette made its way into our yoddles and yarns. A theme emerged: jam outside the bathroom, not in them! Not to mention that when people asked what we were doing and why (as the young are wont to) we had a peefect opportunity to discuss the wonderful largest participatory art project on the playa and how to pooperly contribute aesthetically and excrementally to the potties.

I submit this idea to the wise council of shitheads who cavort on this board and to my liege and lordess, the shit queen herself.

Ps . I want to start a new thread for potty etiquette song lyrics

[robbidobbs]

Welcome welcome welcome GummiBear!!!
Pottie Etiquette lyrics could be its own thread, but absolutely post them here! I'm spread pretty thin as it is, and I wouldn't want to miss anything you come up with.
You have been simply magical for the Pottie Project! Every aspect of you is perfect for the job you so enthusiastically and artistically embraced.

[Ratty]

Robbi, I know you love euphemisms for going #2. Here are some fresh ones from my wit of a son.

Check the traffic report
Visit my Mom
Pass some lawn furniture
Be part of the ecosystem
Feed the fish
Do spring cleaning
Decorate the loo
Analyze my diet
Endorse Glade
Dig a pit
Paint a portrait

He is one crass little monster.

[robbidobbs]

Robbi, I know you love euphemisms for going #2. Here are some fresh ones from my wit of a son.

Check the traffic report
Visit my Mom
Pass some lawn furniture
Be part of the ecosystem
Feed the fish
Do spring cleaning
Decorate the loo
Analyze my diet
Endorse Glade
Dig a pit
Paint a portrait

He is one crass little monster.

LMAO!
Ones I used out there:
Go to my art project
Hit the head (I just learned this has military origins)
Go wee (WHEE!)
Check the tp supply
Make room for more beverage
Do an unscheduled potty inspection

Others:
Do my homework
Make the world a better place
Visit the kitties (they hang out in the bathroom)

[robbidobbs]

Happy Decompression Campers!
Here it is in raw form. I'll probably read it a hundred times, so feel free to make comments.

FINAL WIPE-UP 2014

It was a magical year for shit, Campers! Unbelievable, revolutionary, extraordinary: these are just some more adjectives that describe The Largest Participatory Art Installation in Black Rock City this year.

For this missive, I’ve writing in a somewhat episodic fashion. Ok it’s a damn book. The content is all there, but it can plod along at times. Bear with me, as these are notes often to myself for next year, and to make sure I don’t forget something I learned.

Remember kids last year I was injured at the end of the Event and wasn’t able to take down the exterior signs? The shoes I worked over for months pre-event worked great. The pottie signs however looked like shit this year. One year of Reno weather doesn’t help the tape any either – it was a bitch to get off. Some were illegible, and that doesn’t help my message getting out at all. I was able to get nearly all of them off (w/o getting religious about it), and will be putting up fresh new ones next year. I figure a crew of 4 plus me & CO is plenty to do the job.

The first thing I did upon arrival, after dropping off my trailer, was to get my Pottie PA working. I had designed and installed it off-playa, I was NOT going to be dependent on anyone for my voice ever again. Next year I’d like to have ice cream truck music out the roof so I can sing pottie limericks karaoke style. Annoying is delightfully adhesive. Logic of MASH has offered to assist with the music accompaniment recording. I’m so tickled!

For the first time in my career, I maintained a written, rotating “to do” list throughout the week. This composition book w attached paper lists on the front cover was referred by me as “My Brain”. I can’t believe I was able to do my job w/o one in the past! Just as a side note, one indicator on how nuts my life gets out there is that on just about every daily list, I wrote “BRUSH TEETH” in the upper right hand corner. We have a saying at Pottie Central: “Two phenomena must occur simultaneously for anything to actually get done – you must have the ability to do the action, and you must remember to do it.” I think I had a 30% increase in teeth brushing this year.

Pre-event I had made arrangements to have Fluffer water delivered to MASH. This was the first time I’d ever requested it, and because MASH was a clearing house for volunteers, I didn’t want to be a burden on this generous camp. FLUFFERS ROCK! Thank you so much for delivering water daily, it is very much appreciated by the camp, by CO who hid and protected it, and by me so I didn’t have to worry about the volunteer water needs.

THANK YOU CO of MASH 4207 for your amazing work and managerial skills this year. He kept a supply of thoroughly prepared and enthusiastic volunteers coming to me, and I was able to hustle some from my side of the city. This year I added another line item to their instructions – if I start to babble incoherently, possibly making them uncomfortable, they are to say: “SHUT THE FUCK UP AND DRINK!” It worked like a charm all week.
CO was golf-cart mobile this year in the “Deuse-Anna-Half”, so was able to take over all of South side (2:00 to 6:00), and handled it beautifully as his own personal fiefdom. One tricky part of having a volunteer that isn’t in shouting range of me was quickly resolved – at every meal, we are to make it to Commissary and meet outside at the benches. Breakfast: 7-7:30, Lunch 12-12:30, Dinner 6-6:30. This way if one is running late, the other wont have to wait any longer than 30 mins. Only at Mudpocylips Monday did this fail for obvious reasons.

Mudpocylips Monday! We all have our stories on what we did on mud-day. Here is mine. I woke up about 6 when the alarm didn’t go off. I hoisted myself upright, a Matrix-like series of to-do items flowing thru my head, when I heard “tap-tap-tap”. I listened to identify it…rain? YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! I exclaimed. I had blown off for 2 days getting my tent under my monkey hut that Ratty and some folks from McGyver Camp generously built for me (THANK YOU!!!). I didn’t have any time to think about arranging furniture, I was hurling shit under the hut as the rain increased. Fuck feng shui, I had to get this shit protected. I still had to get my shit together for Poop Patrol. The Digestive System of the Man doesn’t have mud days! I got dressed and didn’t brush my teeth.

Holy moley! Just before 7, here comes Courtney from Shots for Shocks reporting for duty. WOW! What dedication! I am so grateful to S4S Camp for supporting me all week. This however was staggeringly amazing! She was prepared, but informed me that her knee was swollen but still wanted to work. I assured her that we can stop and visit w random camps along the way, and to just let me know. I sit a lot on patrol, and have my own physical limitations, so we ventured off to breakfast. I wore my pink croc sandals for this adventure, and they turned out to be the cats pj’s for mud. We were able to get to Commissary just before 8, and realized that CO probably had his own insanity to deal with.

So off we went to my first mission of the day at BMIR. Pre-event Bobzilla had asked me to come in on Monday to be interviewed. I thought to myself: “SELF! Gate is closed. There is a WALL of people stranded out there right now, glued to BMIR. It would be foolish for me not to take advantage of them. I arrived, and was told Bob was sleeping (good boy!), but that the DJ can take me in now. She informed me that this was her first day on the air, and that her relief hadn’t shown up, so she was winging it. Goody! Have I got a special for you! I coached her re introductions, and we got started. I was probably on the air for about 10 mins when we were informed we weren’t broadcasting, but still streaming, and to continue. So we did. I talked about another 10-15 mins and wrapped. When I came out I discovered that Courtney had wandered off. I didn’t have a good idea of my plan after that, and the rain was coming down hard, so I figured I’d hang at BMIR until something materialized.

Here’s the setting: BMIR is made of shade cloth. It is not waterproof. The technicians were frantically fixing wiring. Everything was wet and the ceiling dripped. I drank BMIR water and assessed the situation. Sucks mud. Two other folks were with me there. I looked to my left, and under the DJ trailer, the dirt was DRY! “I’m sitting there.” I announced. The guy jumped in after me, and the girl said – but we’ll be sitting on the dirt. “I’m DPW, I’m use to sitting on dirt.” We spent the rest of the storm under there dry and happy. We took turns telling stories, like what we do at BRC, our playa name origins, and made up stories about what happened to my volunteer. We have a saying at Pottie Central: If you’re going to make up stories, make up good ones. We had a ball coming up with stories on what happened to Courtney, and yes they were all happy and good. I learned that the girl under the trailer was named Courtney also, from Cunt Crew – a small group of girl-stuff holistic medics. I asked if she’d be interested in heading up the Red Tent campaign, as it is potty trash related, but extremely sensitive due to the delicate nature of the subject matter. I’m a barbarian and simply have no patience for ninnies. She said she’d present it to her campmates.

The young gent, GummiBear, said that he was out of work that day, as Earth Guardians were having a mud-day. I asked him to join me on Poop Patrol, and he accepted. What a glorious playadipity chance meeting! He not only spent the rest of the day with me, he is hired full time to do Poop Patrol next year for the entire Center Camp! I’ve desperately needed someone to go foot-mobile all day towing a hand-cart, and talk with this densely populated area. I needed someone with endurance, focus, enthusiasm, gregariousness, endurance, creativity, self-sufficiency, charm, and did I mention endurance? He’s a HIKER!!! I am thrilled that he’s joined, and look forward to hearing about his “Jamming Against Jamming” – a traveling minstrel show with songs about Excremental Correctness. His campmates are ecstatic for GummiBear, and enthusiastically supportive of him and his new mission in life. This is a very well run camp, so I’m confident GummiBear will be well taken care of next year.
On foot-mobile Poop Patrol, I put out on the bullhorn the suggestion to help anyone driving into view. They are tired, stressed out, and they need a safe place to sleep tonight. Please just get up and help them, even if they’re not in your camp or village. Some chick called out something about radical self-reliance. I shouted out FUCK THAT! THEY NEED YOUR HELP NOW, AND YOU MIGHT NEED THEIR HELP LATER SO STFU! I got cheers from the sidelines from that.

Tutu Tuesday with Ratty:
At 6:45am Tuesday morning, there was Ratty in her tutu on my front porch. I had her all day for Poop Patrol. Joy! We’d made this girl-date pre-event, so of course I brought my romantic length pink/orange layered and lined tutu (the first time I ever sewed tule in my life!). I put it on. I knew this was going to be an interesting day getting in and out of the Poop Mobile in a mid-calf length dress that’s fluffy. We spent the morning on rounds. She is indefatigable! And what an appetite! My goodness a lot of food went into that tiny frame!
This year I came up with a way to succinctly describe table manners at Commissary. Everyone here is eating as fast and as much as they are able to in order to get back out on the job. The playa makes you burn calories like a goddamn furnace! So people are shoveling food into their face-holes without any regard for what they look like doing it. At the Pottie Central table (far right wall, any table) we call it: eat like a cook over a garbage can. Talk to a cook if you don’t get it.

That afternoon, we made it to the 9:00 Man Bank, and spent about an hour at the Toilet Bowl Party. I was exhausted and dehydrated, so Ratty and I sat in my hatchback shade and watched the world go by. I did get to chat w the guys responsible for the art exhibits at the Man/Temple banks. I realize they are simply landmarks to prevent playa puddles, and I appreciate their art. I really couldn’t get into party mode, so after a couple quarts, I mooped the area, restocked tp, danced a bit, and we went back on Poop Patrol.

(Tuesday) That evening I showed up at Playa Network Broadcasting, a camp a block from where I lived. Earlier in the week, Cheese and I had made arrangements for me to do a TED Talk at 9pm. When I got there, he wasn’t around, and his campmate had thrown together a David Letterman spoof show. I was told I have 5 minutes. WTF?!?! I had the microphone in my hand, and was temporarily speechless. What could I do in 5 minutes other than slogan spewing that I do routinely at the banks? So I said – fuck it! I’m going to do the Pottie Project origin story as a rant. It was very well received. Afterwards, the host and I agreed that a TED Talk really would be a good idea given the importance and scope of what I have to say, but that a daytime slot is preferable. So next year, I’ll make time and hopefully I’ll be recorded.

Wednesday w Ms Beasley
At breakfast I was greeted by CO and his daughter. She had wanted to do Poop Patrol forever, and today was her day. She told me her name, her playa name, her real name again and slowly said her playa name. My brain just couldn’t get around the words she was saying, all I could think about was that she reminded me of the doll Mrs Beasley. So I told her no, your name is Ms Beasley. She loved it! My goodness she turned out to be a major asset to the team. Not only is she excellent at the “SHUT THE FUCK UP AND DRINK” order, but she can keep track of random stuff I bark at her as my auxiliary brain.

We first went to USS to get more copies made of “Pottie Etiquette Defined”. No go, power out. I had no idea how long it had been or how long it was going to be the case. I knew only that once Jose could get the gloppeda-gloppeda machine back spinning, there better not be ANYTHING hindering the flow. I went into crisis mode – find the most number of ears possible right now! So where the hell is Radio Free Burningman? I had already arranged with them several days prior to make PSA’s. Ms Beasley and I looked around the region I thought it was in. Exhausted, we stopped at Dye w Dignity to get hydrated and ask a small stupor of Rangers (yes it’s an actual term for set) for assistance as they had a radio. Nope, Ranger HQ didn’t know the location, go to channel 7. Nope, Placement doesn’t know. Nope they’re not on the map. FUCK! So I sat in the DwD shade and kept drinking. Then I realized that my brain is often smarter than me, that I would have written it down somewhere. So I searched the pages…there it was. We were off! I not only got the interview completed, but their next door neighbor, a bluegrass camp offered to record my “We Know How to Go at Burningman” song. Extremely productive time spent. Ms Beasley and I spent a good hour at the Burningman Hack M&G. While I sat delivering pottie hacks, Ms Beasley laid coolly on the hammock absorbing my random auxiliary brain thought fragments. She was terrific at keeping track of disparate information. Later that day we hit the Blow Job site at DPW Depot and Ms Beasley learned how to give the Poop Mobile a blow out. So nice!

Here I need to do some public self flagellation: that day, Silken handed me my ass and my meal tickets bag. I had left them in my haste on a bench at Commissary. I was and am so deeply embarrassed! For the rest of the week I was excruciatingly fastidious with them. Never in my career have I done this horrible, negligent act. In retrospect, it would have just been a time sucker for her as they are indexed, but she surely didn’t need that from me. I am SO sorry Silken! We have a saying at Pottie Central: if you make a grievous mistake, relax knowing that it will never happen again.


Because BRC is so fucking HUGE, I have developed a network of camps all over the city where I can chill out, drink my playa punch and get my shit together. One of these camps this year was Not a Fucking Camp Camp, an ePlayan conglomeration. GreyCoyote sat on top of me every time I came in and badgered me about dehydration. His charming and talented wife (forgot her name) kept my quart jug full of blue Gatorade (appropriate). Elliot had adopted the bank across the street, and I heard many glowing reports on how well that bank was maintained. There were several ePlayans in the region, and I’m confident they all had a hand in one of the best kept banks in the city. Thank you Elliot for staying on top of that, I know you were busy. We have another saying at Pottie Central: if you need something done, ask someone who’s busy.

On Wednesday morning I had Light Weight from MASH as my volunteer. She was great! Kept on the drinking riff and my pace. We hit the 5:30C bank (my 3rd attempt) to see if Black Chicken was home (I recognized his truck). He was there! I gave him a bag of tp and some schwag. A quick HOORAY! He has been the BEST Pottie Friend we’ve ever had! It was CO’s territory, but I needed to get this accomplished, and assured BC that he’d be around to keep him stocked and say howdy-doo.

After I had f2f’d with him, I was at my car finding my ass (again), when a street-clothed and gentle looking man approached me, and complimented me on my car’s slogans. (Virginity is so obvious it’s adorable!) I introduced myself including my role in life. He whipped out a business card! He introduced himself as James, and that he’s the Chief Treatment Plan Operator for 4 waste water treatment plants in Vancouver Island BC. This stream of speech was simply washing over me (he’s soft spoken) until I looked at the business card. MY GAWD! HE’S A SHIT PROCESSOR! I grabbed him. I screamed. I jumped up and down. I hugged him again. I didn’t want to let him go! I had so much to say all at once to him! I exclaimed how excited I was to finally get to meet someone in the biz, and yes we need to talk A LOT to each other. He was visibly startled, but said he was glad that I even existed! I told him where I lived, but he refused to allow me to write it on his arm in Sharpie. Right, he’ll remember. This is the land of blinky lights, if you MUST remember something, it goes on your arm in Sharpie. No really, Sharpie…Arm…Right Now. I had written his address in my Brain. I did swing by there once, but of course nobody was home. Playa chaos continued to ensue.

Wednesday was the ePlaya M&G, and I was gifted tuna noodle salad by Felony, and a 2 hour massage by Texas Joe. In the middle of this, I informed him I had to pee. He excused himself and said I could get dressed to walk to the porta-potties. Fuck that. I walked dark-wad naked to the bank. Aha! There was a unit with the door lying on the ground. Perfect – air conditioning. I did my biz, walked back, smooched the folks at the Kissing Booth on the way, and jumped back into the massage session. The reason I was so insistent upon getting a massage is that due to 2 days of too much foot-mobile, my legs were swollen to the point it was difficult to walk. Texas Joe fixed me right up, and I was dancing the next morning. Thank you Joe!

Thursday
I spend another morning alone on Poop Patrol. I got to the bank where Cruz the Wave Camp was hosting tp. The sign was laying flat (illegible) and the tp was untouched. I saw Camp PornPotty was right next door. I solicited the gent who lived there to assist with tp distribution, and he heartily accepted the Pottie Friend job. I am delighted to have any camp that takes on the porta-potty theme, as it makes the bank so much more a part of the art of the city. After setting this up, I looked out toward the Man and there was white out. I put on the bullhorn a quick PSA about keeping your dirt mask handy, when a guy came out and asked me to not do that as he was trying to sleep. I completely had a full on temper tantrum. My art is absolutely my art, and WTF is he complaining about noise!?! I cried HARD for a half hour, completely inconsolable. The PornoPotty guy wandered off, the heat of my tantrum was greater than what he could deal with. A sweet virgin coached me to sit down in the shade of my car and drink beverage. I cried some more, fully realizing that the endorphins would kick in at some point, and that I was probably very dehydrated. She did great. I drank 2 quarts. The conclusion was that his selfishness was born of trying to protect himself, but that I had taken it personally, that my art is how I show compassion to the city. There, all better. I was on my way to the next mission.

DPW Parade – I picked up GummiBear at his camp Avante Yard after lunch. CO met us at the Depot, but because his golf cart is too small & fragile, he instead flitted by the parade later on open playa like a moth. I was unsuccessful at getting my Mp3 player to retain a charge, so I only had voice out the PA. This was actually for the best. Ok kids, lets review what I do all week: I blather stream of consciousness PSA’s while driving all over the city, through heavy pedestrian traffic, through flocks of bicycles (yes, flocks, it’s a set name), through white outs, through naked guys throwing stuffed animals at me. I also direct traffic at intersections because in the land of blinky lights, blinkers are moot, you need a PA. So with that, what better way to put on parade my chosen and very well practiced art? GummiBear had the bullhorn and I was on PA, and we had a blast blathering joyful noises at the participants.

Here we are at Friday. I spent the morning by myself doing Poop Patrol, and it was a pleasant and very productive time delivering tp, getting on the bullhorn at the banks and generally doing what I do best, be visible. At lunch I got to Commissary by 12, and there was James!!! CO had brought him, and I suspect he was prepared to use duct tape to get him back into my presence. James mentioned that he’d searched 4x for MASH camp, that he’d gone to Playa Info to get an address, but he kept failing to find it. Now I had pre-event provided Playa Info with my volunteer flyer, including in Sharpie “MASH 4207 4:15C”. They not only had the address wrong (4:15I) but only identified it as Rosie’s Bar – not a registered camp name. Fortunately, James was not only persistent but smart about the mission. He found MASH, and CO corralled him into the golf cart. For the rest of the day, James was on Poop Patrol. For the rest of the WEEK, he was on Poop Patrol! It was such a thrill for both of us to get to enthusiastically talk shit, as we’re both passionate about the excruciatingly immediacy and importance of this matter. I am so grateful for him. So many times when I was falling apart from the stresses of the job, he carried me. I got to as well get out of my grizzled burner mindset, and see the city through his virginal eyes. That’s why I love virgins; they keep me excited about the magic all around me.
That afternoon we were at my camp getting hydrated and picking up supplies when a cute Indian girl approached us with a question. I ran some tape about it, when she stopped me because she had to get to Media Mecca. I told her to sit the fuck down because she needed to interview me. The rest is published history (“Meet the Shit Queen of Burning Man”)

That evening, I took James to The Black Hole, an epic dive bar if there ever was one! I fell in love with it immediately. I wanted to tell them how much I appreciated them for Mudpocylips and that they had won Burningman. I was standing at the bar to see if beer could be had, and I looked to my left. There was Misa Blue from ePlaya, fresh from shift. She lives in fucking Czech Republic (confirm this). I screamed! She screamed! I lost it right there. We scurried back to the dusty couches and dished while James read magazines. We were such girls! He looked like he understood and was cool about this scene.

Saturday
James and I scurried around the city getting people tp’d, doing the spew at banks and generally trying to be everywhere at once. We went to the Temple to get some “stuff” done for me. James compassionately listened. We then headed back. Too late, we tried to get to the Man banks, but there was a white out. I got SO lost! Completely 180 degrees off twice! I surrendered, so the Man banks were on their own for the evening.
Burn Night
I explained to James that the absolute last place I want to be is in the middle of the playa with all those raging monkeys who’ve taken THE REST of their drugs. What I always do on Burn Night is set up camp chairs in the nearby intersection and watch it from the cheap seats. It’s pleasant, completely safe with plenty of flashlights, and you can see everything you need to see w/o your hair catching on fire. So the tide of people rolled in. I harassed them on bullhorn about how their bicycles WILL evaporate once they get out there. The fireworks went off. The Man burned but didn’t fall. The tide began to come back. A small group of people came toward me as one of them recognized me. They all circled around me, calling others to join them. For about an hour (time dilation) I was, for a lack of a better term, worshipped. This had never ever happened to me before. We cried tears of joy, we kissed, we hugged, we enjoyed each other’s love and compassion for this beautiful community. It was a moment in my life I will not ever forget.

Afterwards, I was too drunk (6 beers) to go to sleep and James wanted to see stuff. We went to Esplanade. The city was alight! We ended up at DustFish Bar, and talked about shit with the folks there. It was a very nice neighborhood bar on Esplanade - just what I needed.

Sunday – James and I made it out to Temple to stock the bank up for the evening. I first delivered a button for my dead friend Eye Full which was placed by a Guardian. Back to work. We hit the units like a damn machine. About 6 units from being finished our timing got off by a second. Whoops! My ankle scraped against the bottom of the spring-loaded door. Blood. Fuck. I assured him we could finish and go directly to Berlin to get me repaired. I recounted my Rainbow story about the kid with the dollar sized hole in the heel of his foot to the medic. Afterwards, I hung out at Berlin Ranger Station and chatted, talked about shit, and got some good education imparted about DPW. James returned, and we set out for MASH. I needed to keep my foot immobile until the scrape healed enough. James wandered off, and I cried at Rosie’s Bar. Thank you again MASH for green dotting me, allowing me to just chill the fuck out, and provide me with a safe place to process the EVERYTHING that I do. CO reported that he was down for a while, so I did Poop Patrol on South Side for a few hours. I was able to get all the way to 2:30, and circled back. I got to visit with my good buddies The Potty Pigs. They have been providing a comfort station at the 4D bank for 15 years! It was a delight to get to enjoy their company, especially given that I was approaching emotional exhaustion. I felt revived after the visit, and got back to MASH. There fortunately was James, he’d not been frightened off (I had feared this as I can be a drain sometimes). He was fine, and continued on Poop Patrol. Within a few hours, I was dancing again. That night we watched the Temple burn. It was peaceful and cleansing.

Monday post event
After all the chaos of the week, I really needed to get my sorry ass over to the Deep North and at least make an appearance at Stag Camp. Once there, I introduced James to Motskyroonmatic (he’s generously given his volunteer time pre-event for 10 years in the past). They immediately dropped into guy-geek-mode. I went to the shade area and chatted up the staggering folks there. I mentioned that I need someone next year to be a Sector Chief for 9-10 spokes, that it’s a 4 hour gig, you get fed & showered, and it’s incredibly important to get the ears of this dense population. Princess Sarah expressed interest, and we talked at length about what the job entails, and by the end of the conversation I think I had it secured. I’ve inquired since then, but have heard nothing. FCFS folks.
That afternoon, we were able to get a shower graciously gifted by USS. Such a kind and generous gift. It is deeply appreciated. I got to talk with the guys in the shade, thanking them for their work. One guy mentioned my bonnet. I told him I had made it, also the apron and the pants. I got up and spun around. They murmured something among themselves, and not wanting to have them think I was embarrassed, I said “Yep, tits are good”. It was a guess anyway. It softened the mood.
That afternoon, Ratty showed up at 6:00 to take down my Monkey Hut. She’s amazing!! It was down in 1.5 hours. What a machine she is! She’s in her mid-60s btw. I want to grow up to be just like her. She’s so hired next year, maybe Sector Chief, but definitely on Poop Patrol.

That evening James and I rode out across open playa to see the sights on that part of town. My voice was jacked hard by then, and it didn’t help when I sang at full volume “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” at an 80’s disco on Esplanade. We needed to hit the head, so we did an unscheduled potty inspection behind Rampart. It all looked good. I had discovered earlier that my bullhorn mic was cutting out, so to avoid a problem with it should there be an emergency or other purpose where volume is necessary, I tested it while sitting on the dirt. “TEST TEST” Fuck, cuts a little. Blow into the connection. “TEST TEST” Ok, it’s better. James expressed displeasure at this action, as it could have disrupted something going on in Rampart at that moment. I calmly explained: “Welcome to Burningman. The rules have changed.” This is the land of blinky lights and these medics have been through hell and gone all week. I assured him everything was fine.

Tuesday
James left at noon. I had signs to take down. I wasn’t going to stress about it, just keep moving forward. If it takes all day damn it, it takes all day. It took the rest of the day. There was a white out in the middle of it. Gawd I love white outs! They’re so relaxing when you’re working in them. I’m not being facetious either, it’s a DPW thing. My new procedure of splitting the signs with a razor first totally worked. I did get 2:00 done before the light became dangerously faded. I got to Commissary just before they closed. Whew!

Wednesday
It was a lovely morning to get my brain in Defaultia gear. It was tedious, I was tired, and I just wasn’t making good progress. Then here comes Strawberry Santa Claus from across the street. He was inspecting a huge red moop stain. He said he was Earth Guardian, and that it probably will take him about 4 hours to clean it up. Wow! And all because some butt-munch decided to dump their punch on the dirt. He helped me disassemble my life on the playa, and I gifted him a moop bag and some Gatorade. I didn’t get the impression that he was being taken care of by EG very well, or maybe he’s just overly independent. After 3 hours of his help, and his offer to moop the entire camp’s region, I offered him breakfast, but once there it was a non-starter. We later got back to my camp and he saw me off. Fascinating, I had no idea there even was a Santa Claus subculture. And this is the 2nd Santa Claus I’ve met at Burningman. What an honor!

So there you have it. This is what I do. The porta-potties are the most important art installation on the playa. They are excruciatingly fragile as a resource. I do not ever claim to do this alone. Everyone in the city is a part of this amazing project. Some are bad monkeys. I don’t hate bad monkeys, they just need to be educated. We have a saying at Pottie Central: Changing the world one asshole at a time.

Once in Defaultia, I heard about how pimped potties had not only gone rogue viral, but have gotten national media attention. I cannot impress upon this community strong enough how bad this situation is. The potties should have nothing in them but tp and your ass. Please do not put anything in their but lighting, signs and grafitti. They so quickly become a moop factory. I have written extensively online about this so I’ll stop there.

We’re all in this beautiful participatory art project together. It’s up to all of us to show loving kindness to everyone so that we all have a safe place to shit. I learned years ago to instead of saying no to hovering or baby wipes, to teach someone the right way – to lift the seat and the lid, and to keep ziplock bags next to your wipe package so you can conveniently pluck one out. There are better ways to help others than snark.

Finally, thank you Turd Burgler, Steve-O and Muddy Waters. You pulled miracles out of your butts all damn week, and you did it with a slathering of customer fucking service even when the shit was raining down!. You guys are gods! So kind participants, keep spreading the word about entertaining them while they work. Get those bikes out of the way when they drive up. Tell others to wait until the drivers wave you in so you don’t jack their rhythm. There are so many ways we can help them do their job for us. More importantly show them that we give a shit about them and the event itself by treating the porta-potties with respect no matter how stoned you are.

I am so grateful to so many people this year who’ve helped out: the entire MASH 4207 camp, James, Ratty, GummiBear, and a huge list of more amazing people that have done acts of kindness to me, some simple, some arduous. I also want to thank everyone who has ever taught someone how to do it right. You are all the rays of hope that will light our way to future success. It’s only going to get better Campers!

Stay regular,

RobbiDobbs
Shit Queen of Burningman
Chief Poopervisor of the Pottie Project
DPW Volunteer Coordinator, Special Projects (Porta-Potties)

[robbidobbs]

I need to flip the page. So far 2 paragraphs gone. Golly I writ good.
Currently working on PSA radio spot ideas. Need to specify Gatorade caps.
If you have any ideas, even silly ones, please post here. I'm also in the market for newspaper ad copy.
Turd Burgler wants the volume to go up on Gatorade caps. Yep it's accidental, no that's not sufficient excuse.
Schwag ideas moving toward necklaces.
Button slogans so far "SIZE MATTERS" "orange is the new stop", "CHECK YOUR CAP".
Yes, I need to decompress.

[Bless]

You're a rock star RobbiDobbs.

[robbidobbs]

Thanks Bless. I just have so gawd damn much stuff in my head that needs to be notated before I hibernate. I've spent the day explaining the rationale re the blue potty lights. Shit never stops. It's a good thing I love what I do.

[maladroit]

But how WAS it, actually? You had an awesome time, but how did we as a city do with the porta potties?

[robbidobbs]

By the end of the event, and after all the cluster-fucking that occurred, the drivers, Turd Burgler and Steve-o were in good spirits. So i'd say it was a stupefyingly excellent year. And next year will be better.

[Fan C]

I love this. My campmate and I bring enough to TP to bring a new roll every time we need some blue box time. I finally looked at the roll holder and figured out how easy to refill they are.

Only ran across one horrifying pottie. It was... well it looked like the hulk transformed inside it. Everything that could be broken was and it looked like they tried to tear open the top of the seat area. Oh and of course they must have been flinging/smearing etc. the contents of said pottie.

[maladroit]

It would be interesting to see which porta pottie banks suffered (or were insufferable) during the event. Everyone holds their breath for the Moop Map...now hold your nose for the Poop Map?

[robbidobbs]

You may be mistaking my cheerful sounding missive for sugar coating or hiding some ugly facts. For anyone who has read my Final Wipe-ups in the past, this is far from the truth. I come down hard on whatever pisses me off. This year it was pimped potties gone rogue viral and getting positive reinforcement from a misinformed public. There was one reported firecracker blast that destroyed a unit. This is unfortunate and costly. I can only assume the abuser was high and thought it was funny. Just like the person who thought it was funny to replace the hand sanitizer with lube at the 730C bank. These are likely 007 offenses. Actions have consequences.
When I write the final copy for HazMatt it will include more detail, but these sad stories weren't intentionally left out.
So, no there will be no Poop Map, maladroit. Only the Final Wipe-up. Hopefully CO will publish his Bidet Report soon. We sure could use more eyes & ears out there though.

[Ratty]

Robbi,,,,from Lucky420

We aim to please
You aim too please

[robbidobbs]

Yep, already have it in the file. Thanks

[robbidobbs]

I discovered this conversation. So I grabbed the wad and will review it in the comfort of my thread.
http://www.metafilter.com/142467/A-lot- ... -BMs-at-BM
On first pass, I will freely admit that the journalist was a bit care free about my use of the word "entitled".
But stepping away from the miss-quoting(she was a virgin frantically typing with her thumbs while i blathered on at full steam). I can say that it is selfish to 1) monopolize the time of the USS guys to clean one personal unit for the same amount of time it would take to clean a whole bank. And 2) not be willing fathom the very idea of using general population. Units because of your delicacies. Face it, unless your theme camp is so utterly cool and you'd never venture out into the wilds, you will be using public toilets. I've lived a good 20 minutes walk and a quick bike ride from the banks for years. Just invest in pee jugs and plan to commute for #2's.

It's the vitriolic response to the articles over use of the word entitled that continues to sadden me. I was misquoted but I'm not begrudge the author. Simply put, I do not talk like that anyway. She made me sound like a bitch. It also alienated a whole sector of the population that did invest in these units, and I wouldn't say something that would make them not want to continue listening to me. I have enjoyed the convenience of personal potties at Terminal City in the last. I do see their efficacy, and for those with the money I say more power to ya. These units are a cash cow to USS, and they don't have a problem with charging you to pump them. Where this all goes kaflooey is when some assmunch fills their ears with complaints. They are to be treated with respect and kindness. Don't be dicks to them. And the other matter that jacks this whole equation is opportunistic small pump companies coming in to harvest this low fruit. It's not fair to USS who has invested so much in man power, knowledge and infrastructure to make this whole shebang work at all!

So if you want to help and enjoy the comfort and convenience of personal potties, then don't bitch, use the public units if your personal potty is full, be patient, and don't give money to anyone but USS.

[robbidobbs]

Howdy Campers!
If you've ever put up signs with me you know how fun and rewarding it is. But for those who haven't, but are "duct tape curious", well here is a quick write up of how it's done.
You'll need one yard of duct tape per sign, one yard of packing tape per interior sign.
Razor blade paint scrapers, lineman pliers, large putty knife, gloves

2 to start with interior signs and door scraping
3 to tape new signs on exterior

Clear all old tape, residue off outside doors w putty knife. This will be the most physically stressful. Rest a bit by doing the interior signs. Re-zip all doors. Two is minimum and maximum. It goes faster than exterior taping, and a lot more chill.
Duct tape team (armed w all tools) trails interior team. If possible have two teams of three and leap frog banks.
3 is the magic number for taping exterior signs. Two can do it, but it's slow unless both are very experienced. Four is very fast but can lead to down time frequently.

One wipes dust from door and places the sign at average height eye level (unless your very short or very tall, then wing it.)
One tears tape
One places tape.
All three tear tape if not doing their primary task.
Try to get all the signs to line up. It just looks better, like a racing stripe. Still door design can jack this plan. Using a chalk line has been thought of but never implemented. I eyeball it and it seems to go ok.

Gloves are recommended for tape tearing, but I personally prefer not to. I'll tell you about "Motsky gloves" if youre interested. Yes, our Motsky. He's like the godfather of duct taping. I'd love to have a copy of his instructional video he made. Brilliant! What can happen if not careful is the skin on your left index finger wears off. If all three are tearing tape like mad, the damage per individual is avoided a lot.

Once we all get the rhythm, it's a great deal of fun. It's about endurance really. Four days of solid work, for 1400 units, but oh my is it rewarding. In videos of BM, you'll find yourself looking for Porta potties to see what color tape was used. It is the largest participatory art installation after all.

Questions? Additions? Holes?

[robbidobbs]

This may just be a note to self, but I just thought of a brilliant idea: get hooked in to the DMV disabled vehicle group and offer my services as a playa driving trainer. The gig would be simply Poop Patrol, but in some one else's vehicle. The concept is to make the driver more at ease with this pedestrian traffic weirdness and be safe at the same time. Too many things can go wrong. It's tough enough to be a virgin, but to be a virgin in a vehicle has got to be terrifying!

Please tell me I'm full of shit and I'm worrying my pretty little head for nothing. I've been full time playa driving for 11 years, and I have seen it all, from drunk bicyclists trying to grab my rails, to being accosted by misinformed staff. From being flagged to drive people to medical to being stuck in a dirt storm and you know damn well others can't see you either.

Ok, I'm being self serving! I want volunteers to do my job for me, and I want to just goof off and ride along!
It's not a bad gig really. You'd get fed, get a cool t-shirt, all the beer you can hustle, and a damn good foundation for playa driving. I do all the work really, but if you want time on the bullhorn then by all means work it!

Thoughts, suggestions?

[Jovankat]

That sounds like a pretty great two birds one stone kinda deal!

[robbidobbs]

Yep, I'm hoping an ePlayan can guide me on this brilliant idea. Otherwise I'm just going to make up a flyer and post it at DMV. Radical Self-Promotion, eh?

[FIGJAM]

Come by camp and TinyMystic will probably haul you around for a shift.

[robbidobbs]

No doubt I will be there a time or three. Thanks!