DAMMIT PAPASAN!

Figuring a way to deal with human waste has always been a problem since the days of cave dwellers.  You can leave it in a pile, bury it, or use the Vietnam option, burn it.

Places in Vietnam were qualified by the type of latrines they had.  A place with a two-holer was superior to a place with a one-holer, and a place with six-holer was “numba 1”. Outside of large cities, plumbing was only a concept.  As opposed to old fashioned out houses, Vietnam shitters were designed so that half a 55 gallon steel barrel could fit under the hole to collect the waste.  Each morning local Papasans, who had been hired to do such things, would systematically pull the barrels out, add jet fuel to the contents, and light them off.  At 9 A.M. every day all across Vietnam, thin trails of smoke would rise from American compounds and mix with the fragrance of charcoal and nouc mam.

Being a deluxe place, we had a six-holer at Dong Ba Thin, but there was only one extra barrel so the standard practice was for Papasan to swap barrel #1 with an empty, then replace #2 with #1 after he had burned the contents.  In order to speed up the process, Papasans were issued heavy gloves so they could grab the hot barrels and throw them back into service, usually with the remains still sizzling in the bottom.

This required a certain amount of situational awareness on the part of users.  BMs often came with certain level of urgency after one had been in country for awhile.  Most of us didn’t experience firm feces until we had been back in the world for several weeks, so getting someplace to “unload” became rather important, that’s why six holes were superior to four, etc. etc.  On normal days we were usually up and gone shortly after dawn so an encounter with Papasan was not a problem.  Occasionally however, we would have a delayed departure, or even more infrequently, a day off.  Such was the case this day.

Knowing I had the following day “off”, I donned my civvies and headed to the Sands.  An Army steak with greasy french fries got the evening going, followed by a number of beers and other concoctions as the inevitable liars dice game progressed.  Some time in the early morning I made my way back to the hooch secure in the knowledge that I could sleep till noon.  Unfortunately, Mamasan had a different idea.  Having a drunken aviator sacked out in his bunk screwed-up her schedule.  As she started cleaning, the noise level continued to rise.  She began by banging pots and pans, then sweeping under my bunk and bumping into it, and finally, singing some God forsaken Vietnamese song in her shrill voice.  That did it.  I conceded defeat and abandoned my room to her.  That’s when the steak and fries let me know it was time for them to leave.

I slipped into my B.F. Goodrich sandals and headed for the six-holer, using rapid but short steps.  The outcome of this trip was looking grim, but I stopped several times to practice muscle control and made it successfully to the latrine door.  In one fluid motion I dropped trou, spun around, and planted myself on the center hole, but just as I was about to relieve myself, the barrel below was yanked away and replaced by one just burned.  I could feel the intense heat rising up, and looked wistfully toward another hole, thinking I might just be able to hold it until I could make the shift, but it was not to be.  My tortured sphincter muscles gave up and the contents were explosively discharged into the scorched barrel.  The cloud of steam that came up and enveloped me was ghastly.  I contorted my face and squeezed my watering eyes shut.  Through my clenched teeth all I could manage to say was, “dammit Papasan!”

Fred Harms

Sidekick 3

Nov67 - Oct68