Driving home from a weekend getaway in "Sunny and 65" Mesquite, Nevada headed home to a depressing 22 degree Price, Utah, I realized that I have neglected to address a major experience that we have all faced at least once in our lifetime(or many more times depending on your drinking habits). It's the routine visit to a truck stop restroom. I know this is usually the kind of conversation better kept behind closed doors for those of you with more class than I carry, but I have the tendency to discuss the distasteful. It's a road hazard twice as common as any other traveling trouble. Plus, it's unavoidable! When given the choice between staring down the barrel of a "No service for the next 110 miles" sign after you've downed a big gulp or braving the trenches of a truck stop toilet, you'll brave that bathroom every time. Well, Saturday afternoon I found myself in that exact situation, making that same decision and the experience was exactly what I would have expected.
For starters, there's nothing worse than opening a door to the terrible unknown and finding out that your immediate future will be spent spending an uncomfortable 10+ minute wait in the worst of lines. "Should I wait? Maybe I'll just leave. Maybe that sign is old and there's really a nicer establishment down the road with the kind of hygienic facilities a travelers dreams are made of....ah dammit, no such place exists. Fine!" So you settle in for the most awkward, eye contact avoiding, pretend everything is falling on deaf hears, people watching event you'll ever put yourself though on purpose. For an overly observant person like myself, it's a nightmare of epic proportions.
It never fails that I have to wait next to the woman who never misses a chance to crack a joke or start up some discussion all while pretending it's completely normal to introduce herself to strangers standing next to the paper towel dispenser. What about this forced sharing of the most private of processes makes you think That I not only want to know, but I care about your Uncles ex-Wife who's also the Mayors Sister? Your need to vent is clashing with my need to get back on the road lady! Put up or shut up...preferably both.
Then there is the woman talking on her cell at a volume even the astronauts in space can listen in on. She is completely fine with the whole world(or the twelve other women in the room including small talk Sally) getting a play by play of her recent trip to the "girly doctor". The only good thing that comes from encountering this lady in the lavatory, is gaining the knowledge not to use the same one that she does. Thanks for the tip Tina! Now please hang up the phone and finish this step in silence.
The front of the line is inevitably occupied by the old woman who lived in a shoe and all 18 of her children too! Pro: knowing that the only stall she's going to seize up is the handicap one due to the sheer size of her "party" alone. Less options for her equals more options for me! Con: having one of said 18 tots poke their head under my stall of secrecy. Uncomfortable!
Finally, I spot (like I always do with my loathsome luck in lavatories)the last person you want to see doing the last thing you want to see them doing. It's the convenience clerk ignoring the flashing neon "Employees must was hands" beacon while doing the walk of shame from her stall to the exit sign. Add that to the list of reasons why gas station sushi is never a good idea.
Walking outside after that stifling scene of un-sanitation and out into the fresh Utah air is the most freeing feeling I'm sure one can ever experience(short of escaping a prison type situation or finishing up your shift at the shit farm). On that short trip back to the truck, I'm anticipating seeing the familiar faces and all of that thought provoking adult conversation I'm going to enjoy once I step inside that clean cab. Refreshed and reseated I turn to my seven year old son in time to hear "Hey Mom, drop a load?" Ah...high hopes.
No comments:
Post a Comment