The Saga of the Outhouse

Willie Wingwood is a hermit who lives a few miles outside of the town of Zipperfinch Lake, not too far from the Zipperfinch River. He'd lived in his ramshackle cabin for as long as anyone could remember and he rarely did anything to fix up his place. Occasionally he'd nail a board up here or there to try to stop the bitter winter winds from blowing through the cabin but generally he just left things alone. That's why it came as a complete surprise to everyone in town when word drifted in that he was digging a new pit for his outhouse.

Rolly Zimwich had stopped by Willie's one day to purchase a jug of the rheumatism medicine that Willie concocted in the old shed way behind the cabin. He asked Willie about the impending project.

"Yup," Willie said. "Might as well move it. I've got to tip her over anyway to get all them wasp's nests out from under there. Gettin' pretty scary sometimes if I have to sit there for very long."

Word of Willie's project must have somehow reached various local government officials, too. He'd barely started digging when Collin Crankcase, the township zoning inspector, strolled to the back of the cabin where Willie was working. The old hermit hadn't heard him drive up.

"What, may I ask, are you doing, Mr. Wingwood?" asked Collin Crankcase.

"Diggin' a new pit for my outhouse which ain't none of your business, Crankcase."

Collin Crankcase glowered at Willie. "Do you plan on moving the outhouse over the pit?"

"That's generally how it's done," answered Willie.

"Then it is my business. You'll need a zoning permit to move it. Come down to the township hall with a site plan and I'll see if I can approve it."

"What's the permit going to cost me?" asked the hermit, knowing there's a fee for anything that involves government officials of any kind.

"The permit is only twenty dollars," said Collin Crankcase.

Willie spent the next few days drawing the plan on the back of a paper napkin. After grabbing a twenty dollar bill out of the coffee can on the counter, he hopped on his bicycle and pedaled to the township hall in Zipperfinch Lake. He handed the twenty dollar bill and the napkin to Collin Crankcase.

"Looks good to me," said the zoning inspector, grabbing the twenty dollar bill but barely looking at the drawing on the napkin. "Here's your permit," he said, handing an official looking piece of paper to Willie.

The hermit had barely started digging again when he heard a vehicle drive up. Soon, a well manicured man dressed in expensive clothes walked around the corner of the cabin. "What are you doing?" he asked, sneering at Willie.

"Digging a new pit for my outhouse," answered Willie.

"Do you plan on moving the outhouse over the new pit?" the man asked while flicking a fly off his silk shirt and staring at his fingertips.

"Yup. That's generally how it's done," answered Willie.

"Well," said the man. "I'm the county building inspector and you'll need a building permit."

"I ain't building nothin'," said the frustrated hermit.

"That doesn't matter," said the man as an evil grin crept across his face. "You'll need a building permit to move the building."

"What's that going to cost me?" asked Willie.

"The fee is only fifty dollars. Come in to the building inspector's office with the money and the plans and I'll try to approve the move."

Willie Wingwood was dumbfounded. He spent the next three days drawing the plans on the backs of two paper napkins. After retrieving two twenties and a ten from the coffee can, he hopped on his bicycle and pedaled off toward Marquette, which is quite a long ride for a man his age. Upon reaching the building inspector's office, he handed the man the two napkins and the fifty dollars.

"Looks good to me," said the building inspector while grabbing the money but hardly looking at the napkins. He signed an official looking document and handed it to Willie.

The hermit was exhausted when he got back to his cabin so he didn't resume digging until the next day. He hadn't scooped out more that three or four shovels full of dirt when a dour looking woman in dungarees with a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth ambled over to where he was digging.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, flicking the cigarette into the partially dug hole.

"Diggin' a new pit for my outhouse."

"I'm from the county health department," the woman said. "You'll need a health permit for the new outhouse."

"I'm not buildin' a new outhouse," whimpered Willie. "I'm just movin' the old one."

"That doesn't matter," the woman growled. "It's a new hole so it's considered a new outhouse. Come up to the health department with your pit plan and I'll try to approve it."

"What'll it cost me?" asked Willie.

"The fee is only seventy-five dollars," answered the woman.

Willie was beginning to figure out the system. The next morning he grabbed two paper napkins, took the required funds out of the coffee can and again pedaled off toward Marquette. Knowing that no one was bothering to look at his plans, he didn't waste his time drawing them. No one had even noticed that the napkins said "Lakeside Bar and Grill" on the front. When he reached the health department, he handed the woman the money and the napkins.

"Looks good to me," she said, grabbing the money. She issued him the permit and he started back.

Willie slept for a full twenty-four hours after he reached home. The ride back had been exhausting, especially since he got a flat tire on his bike and had to walk the last ten miles while guiding the bicycle alongside.

He finally did get back to digging. He was, in fact, almost finished when Herb Hangover, the local Department of Natural Resources Conservation Officer, pulled up in his green pickup with the emergency lights on top flashing bright blue and red.

Herb Hangover jumped out of the truck and ran over to Willie. "Wingwood, you old reprobate," he said. What are you're doing?"

Willie didn't understand the word "reprobate" but he was sure he didn't like it. He looked Herb Hangover squarely in the eye and said, "I'm diggin' a new pit for my outhouse. I plan on movin' the outhouse over it and fillin' up the old hole with dirt."

"You aren't filling anything up without an erosion control permit," Hangover said angrily. "You're pretty close to the river here and you can't be mucking about with dirt anywhere you feel like."

"What's it cost?" asked Willie, his face twitching noticeably.

"The fee is only one hundred dollars," answered Officer Hangover as he walked back to his truck and climbed in. "Come down to my office with the money and I'll see what I can do," he yelled as he drove off.

Willie, a normally placid person, was beet red and twitching with anger. He thought momentarily and smiled for the first time in weeks. "The bears do it in the woods. I guess I can, too."

Running into the cabin, he came out carrying a large can of kerosene. He sloshed the fuel both inside and outside of the outhouse. Then he struck a match and set the whole building ablaze while cackling maniacally.

A red truck came roaring up. A man jumped out and ran toward Willie. "I'm the fire marshal and you're under arrest," he said as he carted Willie off to court.

The judge sentenced Willie to six months in the county jail and a five hundred dollar fine. He was convicted of starting a fire without a burning permit. The coffee can was now empty.

Upon his release, Willie returned home to a long line of people who had joyfully learned that he was out of jail. During his incarceration, everyone for miles around had run out of rheumatism medicine. The pent up demand for the product was overwhelming. When the day was over, the coffee can was full again.

Willie Wingwood did have to spend the winter replenishing his stock of medicine and the well worn path to the old shed way out back spoke volumes about how long it took him. There was also a new well worn path that led directly off into the forest.