This story may be a new low for my blog. Up till now I’ve kept things mildly classy. And all that is about to go out the window. We all knew it was going to happen sooner or later.
A few years ago I held a position at my job that required a significant amount of driving. In fact, all I did was drive all day long. Most of that driving was done in residential neighborhoods.
As such, I didn’t always know where I would end up going to the bathroom on a day to day basis. I tried to only use ‘clean’ places. Like Walgreens or Publix. But more often I was reduced to using gas stations.
I’ve gotten freakishly good at knowing, just from seeing the outside, how a gas station bathroom is going to be. It’s like a super power. And I’ve created a list of rules to live by.
Never use a gas station bathroom that has the bathroom entrance outside.
Never use a gas station bathroom that requires you to get a key with some giant thing attached to it. Common items are rulers, dolls, sawed off 2x4s. And finally, never use a gas station bathroom that is not a chain store.
There are rules about certain neighborhoods to not use a gas station bathroom in too. But I can rarely afford to be that picky.
I also have rules about certain chains that I will never use. But I don’t know if I want to slander anyone’s good name here. So I won’t.
Also, I always bring a paper napkin in with me in case there is no toilet paper. I keep a stash in the glove compartment of both my vehicles. I can do without paper towels, or even soap. (I have hand sanitizer). I can even do without a door that locks if I have to. But I absolutely cannot do without toilet paper.
One day I stopped at a reputable chain of gas stations to take a leak. This particular chain is the lowest I will go in a non-emergency situation. But it was also the only place around for miles.
I walked inside and was dismayed to see that this particular station only had one bathroom. For men and women to share. I have no aesthetic issue with sharing a bathroom with men. In fact, I use the men’s room almost as frequently as the women’s.
My issue with unisex public bathrooms is that: even though they get twice as much traffic, they aren’t cleaned twice as often. In fact, they seemed to be cleaned less than a gender segregated bathroom.
But it was bordering on an emergency and I didn’t think I’d make it to another location.
I walked in and found the room to be in my expected state of filth. I could handle it. I can handle almost anything as long as my expectations are met.
I pulled my pants down, honestly, farther down than I generally do. And I did my business. I don’t even know where my mind was. There was nothing remarkable about anything that had happened thus far in that day.
I should just go ahead and admit here that I love bathroom graffiti. It is amusing and entertaining. Actually, I like all forms of graffiti.
When I finished, I went to pull up my underwear. And that’s when I saw it. There was a brown smear all across the inside of my underwear. My lovely pink underwear that I had recently bought. In fact, I couldn’t have worn them more than once or twice.
Also, I knew I hadn’t had an accident. I was confused for a moment. Staring at what could only be poo. I leaned in to sniff it. Maybe it was, I don’t know, chocolate, somehow?
No, it was definitely poo. And it was definitely not mine.
I looked down at the toilet bowl. And there it was. Something I had somehow missed when entering the bathroom. Something I had somehow missed when pulling my pants and underwear down.
Someone had gone all over the toilet base. It wasn’t just on the base of the toilet. It was running down the underside of the bowl.
When I pulled my underwear down so far, I somehow managed to not only brush against it. I managed to smear it all over my lovely underwear.
I angrily went through the process of loosening my boots so I could step out of my pants, without stepping in my bare socks, on a public, gas station bathroom floor. I had to balance very precariously as I also didn’t want to accidentally touch myself with my ruined underwear.
I stepped out of the underwear and threw them in the trash. Then I got re-dressed. It felt wrong to go commando. I needed underwear. I hated the feeling of my jeans on my naked privates.
I washed my hands several times. As I exited the bathroom I breathed a sigh of relief that I had noticed the smear before pulling my pants up. Because that is not something I would have ever recovered from.
I won’t be offended if anyone stops following me after this horror story. Honestly, it’s probably for the best. Shit is going to start getting weird over here. And I have way more repulsive stories to tell.