It has a million names, but every soldier knows the torture and sweet relief of the FOB port-o-pots. Blue, White, Mauve and so many other drab yet calming colors in the shape of a rectangular temple to human enginuity. The port-o-pot is truly the greatest thing since sliced bread.
How could such a wonderous creation, designed by God himself and handed down to man as a sign of mercy, be associated with death himself.
This fucking heat.
To venture into the port-o-pot for any period longer than the 10 seconds needed to unbutton, whip, release, shake, tuck, and button spells doom for the unwary soldier. Much like Dante venturing into the Inferno, above the doors reads the inscription:
Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here.
It gets up to 120 degrees here...on a cool day...in the shade. If you have the unfortunate circumstance to have to spend some "quality time" in the port-o-pot, you might as well attach an I.V. to your arm. The entire water stores in your body evaporate whilst you drop the kids off at the pool. Or as I like to believe, the Sarlac Pitt like in Return of the Jedi.
And why do people look into the pit? You know you do. Everyone does it, but no one speaks of our hidden fascination with the abyss of piss. Sometimes we even lean forward a bit and tilt our head ever so slightly to check out just whats going on down there. What are we looking for anyway? I mean one time a saw what appeared to be a nice watch, but I sure as hell wasn't about to repel, ranger style, down into the pit. It was like a strange oddity, circus-like in appeal.
"Well isn't that interesting" we say as we question how it got there.
One of my buddies here, who shall remain nameless, actually dropped his hat into the pitt. Valiantly and with no regard to his own sanitary well-being reached in to save his own little piece of government issued property. Like a small child fallen down an abandoned water pipe in Buttfuck, Arkansas the hat had to be saved no matter what the cost. Yea, there was no media circus or cheering when his hat was brought out of the pitt to bask in the glorious rays of Afghan sunlight and perch upon the head of its owner, but it was the stuff of legends, of that I have no doubt.
Soldiers fear the port-o-pot. I saw one rather large soldier go in only to emrge 20 minutes later and 20 lbs lighter! Not just from last weeks Cordon-Bleu, but from all the sweating done while held captive by the whack shack. Now, he goes in there after work outs, with a towel over his shoulder and in flip-flops. He takes a water bottle and splashes the water around on the inside to create more steam. Its nuts. Though he has lost alot of weight. I guess we should be thankful. I mean people pay good money for access to a world class sauna. So be it.
I for one have managed to strike an uneasy alliance with the shack. I reserve time in the early morning before the sauna is open for business and has not yet reached its briskett roasting temperatures for me to spend quality time with in its confines. In return, I have promised to tell its tale of mystery, tragedy, and wonder.
The port-o-pot: soldiers health spa and torture chamber.