Showertime

Day 14 (Wed, Sept 29)

If farmstead communal shower doesn’t evoke strong negative emotions, maybe this following, in-depth description will.

            I locate a towel and shuffle into the bathroom. It’s not terrible, but the grime and pools of stagnant, mossy water encourage me to walk on the balls of my feet. I turn on the hot water, and wait to let the shower heat up a bit. In seconds, the bathroom is filled with the hottest, finest steam I’ve ever experienced. I open the small crooked window to my left but the mist persists. Avoiding the blistering hot water, I manage to turn the cold water knob all the way to the left. I incorrectly assume that the water is now below boiling and almost step completely into it. Expletive! It’s still scorching. I turn the hot water knob a smidge to the left and all of a sudden I’m transported to Patagonia. I eventually dial the overly sensitive hot water knob to a position that’s agreeable to non-extremophile organisms and step in. Ahhh. Not bad. I almost don’t mind the mysterious items floating around my feet.  Just as I’m starting to feel comfortable, an inexplicable 2-second burst of hot water inhabits and quarters my showerwater. I check to feel if the skin on my back has sloughed off. I reconsider how badly I want to be clean. I decide the ritual is a necessary evil and step back into the 5^th circle of hell. I am greeted by yet another burst, only this time it’s cold water. I involuntarily gasp and accept that this shower simply hates people.

Despite having set the shower to an acceptable earthly temperature almost 5 minutes ago, the bathroom is still filled with Jurassic Park fog and I can barely see the floor, which, with a credit to the steam, isn’t all bad. Still, I want to find the fingernail brush to clean, what is invariably shit, from my beneath my nails. No hyperbole here friends, when something gets dirty on a farm, 5 times out of 10 its some type of shit. 4 times out of 5 it’s cow shit…and that’s a good thing. The other shit smells like shit. The goats and sheep manage to crank it up a notch and produce a slightly more vile strain of fecal matter. I can’t find the fingernail brush amidst the mist and end up using what I can only guess is the foot brush. It’s bigger and oh, is it dirtier. I pick off what I think is plant material, god I hope it came from a plant, and start scrubbing my fingers. Although many would be in disagreement, I don’t believe I’ve fully explained the quality of how hot the hot water is. You wouldn’t blanch vegetables with this water, unless you enjoy the overcooked carrots at souplantation.

Finishing quickly, I move on to the shower gel. No, it’s not necessary, and I’ve never been much for shower gel cause I always thought it was frivolous, but then again I didn’t come home from work at 6 covered in actual shit back in L.A. Because there’s no showerhead, the stream is akin to the waterfalls of Iguaçu. As such, I have to turn my back to the fire-hose scene in Rambo and apply gel on my leeward side. To my horror, there, in the ceiling corner, is Charlotte’s husband: Mr. Spider, competing for the blue ribbon in the local county fair. Arachnophobia would be an understatement, especially considering the conditions. I have this Hitchcock-borne fear of being stabbed or even startled in the shower. While this sucker couldn’t have been bigger than a quarter (maybe even a Susan B. Anthony), I’m still obligated to check the corner every 5 seconds or so, just to make sure he’s still there. Because everyone knows: the only thing worse than a huge spider on the wall, is that same spider that’s no longer on the wall. Is it gone? Or is it hiding? Maybe it’s behind you. No? Oh, it’s probably crawling up your leg or on your head.

At this point, I’m just trying to juggle/endure my laundry list of shower maladies until the gel suds dissipate. Spider, hot water burst, spider, cold water burst, is that a clump of hair? Wait, where’s the spider? No one deserves this kind of punishment. I step out of the shower, grab my towel and gtfo (for my older readers: google something you don’t understand. Best advice I ever got). I’ve decided I’m going to hoof it these last three or four days on the farm until I get to a hostel, and just try not to get dirty. It’s just easier this way.