So, the husband and I took a business trip down to Florida for a couple of weeks. Which, from where we are, required driving our asses 2,900 miles in a tiny-ass car with another adult who works with us and two pugs. It was a tad crowded. We drive an old Saturn, which in terms of horsepower is essentially a lawnmower with doors.
The thing about enormous road trips is that you have to pee in a lot of public bathrooms. I seem to have a knack for something weird going on in every single one I use. (See here.) Some bathroom and other highlights from the trip:
1. It is 1am somewhere in Nebraska. We pull up to the only building we have seen in about four hours. There is a sign on the door of the gas station which proclaims “YOU ARE NOWHERE.” This is, of course, just after we passed the giant hand-lettered road sign which read “OUTLAW SODOMY.” Apparently, they don’t care for sodomy in Nowhere. Also, last I checked, sodomy IS technically against the law in most places, but no matter. Anyway, the door to the ladies room was wide open and boasted a sign which read “Please do not closed door.” I guess in addition to not caring for sodomy, they don’t care for conjugating verbs properly, either. Or whizzing in private.
|He teabags with the door open.|
2. The three hours of dick jokes we made when we drove through Dix, Nebraska. Seriously, how depressing would your life be if you had to explain to people that you grew up in Dix, Nebraska? At least it is entertaining when you say it. We made up fake headlines like “Local woman bids fond farewell to Dix (dicks.)” Har har har.
3. I walk into a restroom about 20 miles south of Valdosta, Georgia, just outside the Florida border. Not only did it smell like ass so badly that my eyes were watering, but I go up to wash my hands and there is a double sink and two soap dispensers, which are labeled thus: “This one works.” “This one don’t work.” Apparently if people try one soap dispenser and it doesn’t work, they assume the other one is broken as well and forgo cleaning themselves? In addition to that, there was a woman at the sink to my left literally washing her dirty dishes with the soap from the one working dispenser. She was scraping something that smelled a lot like sweet potatoes that have gone bad out of a glass casserole dish. Ugh.
|We ended up in a lot of places which required signs like this for the locals.|
4. Somewhere in Missouri: I walk into the restroom and sit down and do my business, and the toilet paper is slightly out of reach. I lean over to reach it, and the toilet literally tilts up and almost falls over. It isn’t bolted to the floor, it’s just sort of perched there. I’m thinking “Oh my God, I’m going to knock this toilet over and shatter it into a million pieces and there is going to be pee everywhere and my shoes will stink for the rest of the trip.”
5. AdCock Pecans, in Georgia. These guys advertise “pecans by the handful or truckload.” Are those my only two choices? Could I literally back my truck up and order a truckload? Do they charge more if you have big hands? My favorite slogan I made up for them – “Everything’s better when you AdCock.”
6. Bee Bee Ann’s diner, whose billboard boasted “Livers and Peach Cobbler!” Can you imagine the intestinal situation you would have on your hands if you wolfed down a big plate of liver, then chased it with peach cobbler? I hope Bee Bee Ann’s toilet is bolted to the floor, fo’ real. Particularly if one partook of the fare after downing a truckload of pecans.
7. The bathroom in Kentucky, which had all kinds of nifty dispensers of items one apparently can’t live without on the road. I’ve seen the perfume dispensers which dispense a sample packet of perfume you can open and rub on yourself, but this one had a dial you could turn to the fragrance of your choice (all of which had names like “seduction” and “happiness”), and you put your quarter in and stood in front of the machine, whereupon it would shoot a stream of “seduction” in your general direction. They also had a condom machine. Now, not much gives me pause, and I’ve heard of flavored condoms before, so that wouldn’t have surprised me. This machine dispensed coconut-scented condoms. Ummm…really? Perhaps if your personal odor situation is that ugly, you should consider hopping in the shower before you get down to business, rather than slapping on a coconut-scented condom. Because honestly, how good can fake coconut lube and dirty crotch combined really smell? I can see that turning a woman off, personally. Perhaps they should put a perfume shooter in the men’s room and they can just aim it at their penises. It can’t be any worse than smelling like swamp dick and artificial coconut.
8. My personal favorite: We rented a horrible, horrible “otel” room (the sign was missing its ‘m’) in Gotherton, Nebraska, right off the freeway. The little old woman running the joint was wearing some kind of muumuu and chain-smoking while on an oxygen tank. She asked how many. I said “Three adults, two dogs.” This woman looked me straight in the eye and said, without any trace of facetiousness,
“Y’all want one bed or two?”