So apparently I’m going to be posting bathroom stories for a while because my last post got me thinking about all the crazy things I’ve experienced with bathrooms.
This particular bathroom incident happened a little less than a year ago while I was visiting my family in Texas. We decided to go to Galveston on this particular day, just to sightsee, so we took the ferry across and had a wonderful day doing touristy things. When the sun was about to set, we decided it was time to head back to Orange, where most of my family lives down there, but before we left, Leeah and I wanted to visit our favorite tourist stop. While there, we decided that we were parched from the day on the beach and all the walking around in the shops on The Strand, so we walked across the street to a McDonald’s.
I got a HUGE iced tea (ya know, in one of those big foam cups) and it was gone by the time we got on the ferry, which was like 2 miles from McDonald’s. (I mean, the island is only 27 miles long and 3 miles wide… so it doesn’t take long to get anywhere). But that iced tea was demolished.
Anyone whose ever been to Galveston knows that there’s a really really really long stretch of road (I-87) with nothing except beach houses for miles after you get off the ferry (if you’re headed toward Houston). I’ll remember this road forever because it has scarred me for life. I promise you, there is nowhere to stop for gas, food, or the freaking bathroom. Except when you get towards the end. And let me tell you, this freaking road does not end… for miles.
By the time we got to the end of this ridiculously long stretch of road, I was about ready to burst. I had to pee so badly. I’m pretty sure it was the closest I’ve ever been to peeing my pants. It was awful. But we’re just getting to the good part.
So, we finally reached the gas station at the end of I-87. I thought I was seeing a mirage. My sister and I jumped out of the car and walked (by that, I mean we pretty much ran like a bunch of uncivilized children) into this gas station and quickly searched for the nearest bathroom (at that point, I would’ve been satisfied with a hole in the ground. The place didn’t even need walls. I had to go.) After we found the bathroom, I raced myself right on in there. I was smart enough to look for toilet paper as to not violate Restroom Rule #1. But guess what? There was no toilet paper to be found.
I raced out to the cashier to ask for toilet paper, but he wasn’t behind the register. Great. So I rang the little desk bell like 19 times. By the time the cashier took his sweet time making his way up to the register, I thought my bladder might explode. As soon as I saw him, I practically made a public declaration of my need for proper restroom supplies.
Me: “I NEED TOILET PAPER!”
Cashier: “Oh, the bathroom doesn’t have any?”
Me: “No, it’s all out.”
Cashier: “Okay, let me get some. I’ll be right back.”
You guys, it took him forever to find where he stocked his own toilet paper. When he finally returned to the front of the store, he held two rolls of TP covered in plastic. Awesome. I reached my hand out to take them from him, ready to make a mad dash for the bathroom.
Cashier: “Let me unwrap these for you.”
What he should’ve said was: “Let me take my sweet time cautiously unwrapping these two rolls of TP because I’m going to save the freaking plastic wrapping.”
I was almost rude. But I held it in. He was just trying to be nice. After his 5-minute unwrapping marathon, he finally handed me the blessed TP. This time, I unashamedly sprinted for the bathroom. Fresh TP in tow, I closed the door behind me. I was unbuckling my belt when I coincidentally looked up at the sign on the back of the door. It said something to the effect of:
“Only paying customers may use this restroom.”
Oh, God bless America. I should’ve just peed myself right then and there to make the universe happy, but I settled for using the toilet… and buying an ice cream.