She walked in holding a spatula and a half-empty bottle of sriracha. I should’ve known it was going to be one of those nights. But no, she plops the TurnOnSport Orienteering Compass on the counter—$9.98, still in the Amazon box—and gives me that look. The look that says, “I need you to answer a question that’s going to haunt both of us.”
She’s a hiking enthusiast, see. Scouts the local trails with a passion that borders on religious fervor. The compass was supposed to be for the kids—best survival gifts for kids, the listing said. But somewhere between the backyard orienteering game and the fourth glass of wine, she started muttering about “directions a man can’t give.” And then she asked the question I’ve been avoiding since puberty: “Can you use it rectally?”
So I’m a detective. Not a good one—just the kind who ends up in situations like this. I took the compass. TurnOnSport Orienteering Compass, Advanced Scout Compass for Hiking, Camping, and Backpacking. The thing is surprisingly light for something meant to point you toward salvation. The base plate has that satisfying snap when you twist it, and the needle settles like a sleeping cat. Beautiful craftsmanship for under ten bucks. But now I’m staring at it like it’s a smoking gun at a crime scene.
First off, if you’re Googling “is blue buffalo compass safe” because someone in your life has convinced you this is a good idea—stop. That search query alone should be your red flag. But if you’re like me, you’ve already started a spreadsheet titled “things I wish I knew blue buffalo compass” and you’re not backing down. So let me save you some pain.
The edges. Dear God, the edges. The base plate has these sharp corners that’ll make you reconsider every life choice that led you here. And the needle itself? It’s magnetic, so if you think you’re getting accurate bearings from this angle, you’re delusional. The entire neighborhood’s electromagnetic field is going to make that thing spin like a Vegas slot machine. Plus, the plastic housing is rigid. Not flexible. Rigid. You’ll be making a 90-degree turn whether you want to or not.
I spent twenty minutes with a kitchen scale, a bottle of olive oil, and the dregs of my dignity. The turn dial clicks nicely, but that’s not a feature you’re going to appreciate in the moment. There’s a lanyard hole for some reason. I don’t want to know the reason.
If you’re looking for a Sports & Outdoors rectal use experience, I’ve got bad news: this ain’t it. Stick to the hiking trails. Let the kids have their survival gift. And for the love of all that is holy, don’t ask a detective questions he can’t un-answer.
