I really need to pee, but the bathroom is still occupied. This gas station is the worst one yet, but probably the only one for another hour or more. I don’t have a choice. I won’t make it that long. I wish I was a boy. Then I could just walk over into those bushes and be on my way. I’m tempted to do it anyway.
I’m bouncing. I try to stop, but it’s gotten so bad I find myself doing an adult version of the pee pee dance. I stare at the faded red door, willing it to open. How long does it take to use the bathroom? Crap. Literally. I don’t hear a fan. It must be broken. I sigh. It’s going to reek in there.
I try to decipher the ‘decorations’ left by whatever hooligans inhabit the middle of nowhere. The ‘artist’ is either a fan of Picasso, or doesn’t understand basic human anatomy.
I knock to let them know someone is waiting. No one answers. I knock louder and say, “Could you please hurry up?” Still no answer.
Someone has to be in there. This is one of those places where you have to ask for the key behind the counter. I asked. No one could accidentally leave with a foot-long bathroom key. And who would do it on purpose?
I pound on the door, “If someone is in there, answer now! I’m going to check if there’s another key!” No answer.
The clerk resembles a cow, blinking slowly and chewing gum. It seems that thinking isn’t something he does often. “Well…” He glances around. “Oh.” He reaches over and picks up the wooden dowel with the key. “I guess it was returned.”
You guess?!? I feel my eyes bug out of their sockets. I snatch the key and do my business, being sure not to touch anything. I wish I didn’t even have to step on the floor. I want vengeance. Somebody should pay for this horrendous experience. I swallow my frustration, return the key, and continue on.
Worst. Stop. Ever.