Oh, my valve!

In a scene like some pale shadow of Dunces, I was leaving a port-o-let
at Jazz Fest yesterday when my Camelbak's bite-valve caught on the
port-o-let door and was popped off. At which point, the unfettered
tube started spraying water over my shoulder onto the sand. I looked
on the sand outside the port-o-let and inside the port-o-let and my
valve was nowhere to be found. I can only imagine it making a
graceful arc right into the commode.

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