At first, I thought I’d just walked in on some guy taking a whiz– probably one of my fellow journalists who was using the port-a-potty near the press tent. Which is probably just about the cleanest, most hospitable port-a-potty you’re likely to find here at Sasquatch ’09.But no. Apparently, John Vanderslice, like myself, was hanging out and waiting to see the Dodos….and must have had to take a whiz so bad that he forgot to lock the door. I pushed the door open, saw some guy’s back, and retreated. I took my place in the front of the line, and ten seconds later, John Vanderslice walked out. As in, the guy whose set just made me swoon like a Victorian lady maybe three hours previous. As in, a guy who– despite all the talk I’ve heard about how he’s almost always down to chat with fans and is generally one of the sweetest, most stand-up guys you’ll find in the world of indie rock– I’ve never actually had the gumption to walk up to after a show. And the first words he ever said to me (and the other two guys waiting to use the can, who were doing a terrible job suppressing their laughter) just had to be, “You know, I could’ve sworn someone just opened that door on me when I was in there.”All I could muster was a sheepish face. What do you say when you walk in on one of your favorite artists? “Sorry I just saw you take a piss, but I LOVE Romanian Names. Will you sign my boobs?” Um, no. Fortunately, he just chuckled at my obvious humiliation and walked off to watch the Dodos.