Casey's Bathroom Is The New Clown Car

My series of misadventures last week included a couple of bathroom incidents. NO! NO! It's not like THAT! Nothing that would scar me (or YOU) for life. Just something you don't expect, nor want, to happen when you have a need to use the facilities.

 

Last Wednesday, I was over in Sis-Town doing my errands, to free up Thursday for our casino trip with The Pony. I started my tasks at the bank, then proceeded to the Sis-Town Casey's for T-Hoe's weekly gas and my scratchers. 

 

I have learned to take advantage of a clean roomy toilet as it presents itself to me! You never know when you might get tied up in a convenience store line or an unfortunate traffic incident. So I always do my business in the Sis-Town Casey's bathroom. I have also learned to use the facilities BEFORE pre-paying for my gas, because the pump shuts off the pre-payment after an inordinately short period of time, necessitating a walk back inside and another wait in line to have it reset.

 

Anyhoo... I was there before the after-school rush. I proceeded to the bathroom, where there are two stalls. They are both roomy, but only the handicap stall has a bar on the wall for help in arising from the throne. Of course that's the one I covet.

 

I walked in and saw feet under the first stall. I poked the handicap door, and it was latched. I leaned against the wall to wait, trying not to seem like a perv peeping into the cracks of the other stall's door. A woman was washing her hands at the sink. We had a full house. I rarely encounter a single soul in that bathroom.

 

Anyhoo... I heard a flush, and the denizen of the handicap stall emerged. She was a middle-aged woman, slim of build, with neither wheelchair nor cane, and an unencumbered gait. I have no idea why she would need a handicap stall, but perhaps she had a spasm-y bladder that put her in urgent need, and she couldn't wait. I limped myself into the handicap stall.

 

I heard further flushing, and some milling around. New feet became my neighbor in the other stall. When I came out to wash my hands, the sink area was full of two not-so-small women. Neither was washing her hands! They were chatting. Having a family reunion of sorts. As if they didn't have somewhere better to do that. One had an item on the back of her neck that looked a bit like a maxi-pad. Or maybe it was an actual bandage. The other was telling her it looked okay. Whatever...

 

Still, they stood and talked. I know the main talker could see me in her peripheral vision. Even Maxi-Pad could see me in the mirror. Yet they stayed. Not washing. Not drying. Blocking the double sinks. I gave up and left. I have GermX in my purse in T-Hoe. The world won't stop revolving if I don't wash my hands for five minutes. I'm not a face-toucher.

 

As I stood in line to pay for my gas and order up my scratchers, those two lingerers went out the door. I swear they were trying to out-wait me!

 

I have no idea why the Sis-Town Casey's bathroom was the place to be at that very slim window of time.