If I have even one cup of coffee while on the road, I will need to pull over to pee at least once an hour for the next four hours. I’m female. Our bladders are small and angry.
My experience as a road warrior has taught me that Shell, Love’s, and Chevron Gas Stations almost always have restrooms within their sizeable food marts.
If I’m not purchasing gas, I make it a point to buy something, however small, as payment for my use of their plumbing.
I park my car, double-check to make sure my keys are firmly gripped within my palm prior to locking the vehicle, and rush through Shell’s double doors. My eyes quickly scout out the location of the restroom and expertly weave through rows of Twinkies and Beef Jerky, the neon sign like a beacon of hope.
But wait! There’s a line. I discover the existence of a single, unisex bathroom instead of the standard His and Hers. What kind of Shell Station IS this?! Apparently, some regretful trucker’s diet of Mickey D’s and Jack-in-the-Crack finally caught up with him, so I and someone’s grandma queue before the door, trying not to hear the various throat-clearing/squirting/triple-flushing that takes place from within. After much hand-washing and belt-buckling, the dude emerges, eyes lowered beneath a baseball cap as he makes an understandably hasty retreat. Granny gets the throne next, and I silently implore her to hurry the fuck up. She does not.
In plain view of the general pit stop public, I begin to do what can only be described as the Ants In My Pants Dance, gently bouncing from one foot to the other and resisting the urge to hold my crotch like a newly potty-trained two-year-old. The line grows longer behind me, and I share “this fucking figures” glances with my new compatriots. Finally – FINALLY – I hear the orgasmic sound of the lock turning. Granny holds the door open for me, which I thank her kindly for as she looks into my eyes, smiling.
Once inside, I tear open my fly in a hurry and am about to commence laying strips of toilet paper down when I notice something that makes me very, very upset. There’s piss on the toilet seat. Fucking PISS.
Look. I understand that there are situations where the need to pee becomes so unbearable that the hover-move seems imperative; HOWEVER. If the hover-move results in urine all over the location where your ass SHOULD have been planted, at LEAST have the decency to clean up after yourself. What the fuck, people?!
So here I am, in the middle of a fucking BLADDER EMERGENCY, wiping and swiping the toilet seat with a paper towel, cursing that old woman for a.) daring to hold the door open for me, b.) welcoming me in with the sweetest of smiles, and c.) looking me DEAD IN THE EYE…all the while knowing full well that I would have to sop up the remains of her bodily functions. Unbelievable. And worst of all? This shit happens ALL the TIME.
Still, I keep in mind that there are other desperate people in line outside from where this travesty is taking place, depending on me to execute the mission at hand as expeditiously as humanly possible. I don’t let them down. Three minutes later, I’m the one holding the door open for some other wretched, urine-laden soul. Lucky for her, she gets to relieve herself immediately, minus the delay of cleaning up some other dirty bitch’s mellow yellow. Was she, in kind, courteous to the woman waiting in line behind HER? I guess we’ll never know.
Always keep a roll of your own toilet paper...JUST IN CASE.
Pit Stop Etiquette: Get in, get out, and for fuck’s sake, keep it clean. The End.
[Read Part I: Road Revelations: So Long, Seattle]
Author: Britt Warner
Comments
This is why we need more rest stops in this country. They are free, they give you a nice sense of the state you're travelling through (unlike a gas station!) and they are usually fairly clean. Plus there's often free coffee and cookies and a nice little patch of grass for the dogs. Sadly, more and more are being closed each day. Check out this site:http://www.restareahistory.org/
Glad you got home safely!
I almost feel compelled to comiserate with you Britt. Almost, lol. Now I realize that it is by choice that I choose to travel with the Carnival, but the universal bane of all Carnies is the Donicker! (Otherwise known as a Porta-Potty, Outhouse, S**t House, etc) When we are lucky enough to be at a well run County Fair grounds there are usualy modern facilities, but the norm is a line of plastic portas which reek even on the best of days, rarely are stocked with paper, never have those little seat liners common to most public restrooms, and are invariably covered with substances which make urine seem almost bland by comparison. When we are at Mall Parking Lot locations there are usualy facilities at nearby convenience stores or fast food joints, but often those places take a dim view of "us" regularly using their facilities. I have learned to haul a private and ample supply of T.P. with me when on the road for cleaning seats, a supply of hand sanitizer (since none of the portables have sinks) and even a small can of Lysol.
In Australia they have rest stops at most an hour apart. They usually have free coffee, and there's usually a place to eat on the resting grounds. Utopia?
I did utilize a few rest stops, and though most were well-maintained, a couple were completely out of toilet paper…! All in all, though, I'm definitely a fan.
Haha. Brit as an avid road tripper, I'm a fan of truck stops. Big lots(fits truck and trailer!), always have food, and VERY well lit. Makes me feel safer!