Let the record show that this is your warning. You do not want to be reading this one over lunch. Or supper. Or a snack. Or any food. Really.
Farmer H and I went to lunch with my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel on Wednesday. And her Hub. It's a little diner kind of restaurant. The food is always good. At least the two things I've ever ordered there. Which are the chicken quesadilla, and the homemade pretzels with mustard dipping sauce. Farmer H had the breakfast skillet with fried eggs, sausage, hash browns and toast. Slathered in white gravy. That's what he had last time, too. Mabel had a cheeseburger and fries, her Hub had chicken strips, fries, and slaw. Nothing extravagant. Just tasty food.
I'm sure there was nothing wrong with my chicken quesadilla. It was most likely a malfunction of my digestive system. Anyhoo...a few hours after our meal, I felt like the chicken was trying to peck its way out of my descending colon.
We were still at Mabel's house, visiting, but it was time to go. REALLY time to go! There'd been a lot of rain, and our creeks were up. We like to get off the two-lane blacktop before it's school bus time. So we made our goodbyes, and started for home. The plan all along had included a stop for gas in A-Cad, at the Love Station just off the highway. Also some scratchers for me from their machine.
"Man. I really have to go to the bathroom. I don't think I can wait until we get home. While you're putting the gas in, I'm going in the store. I'll be in the bathroom, then at the ticket machine, and then at the soda fountain. So wait for me at one of them, since I won't know where you park."
Farmer H said he would, and I hurried inside. I was feeling quite... um... indisposed. We've stopped there before, so I knew where the bathrooms were at the back of the store. There's usually nobody else in there. The place is mainly a truckstop, with two restaurants attached. So mostly men are doing business there, with their big rigs parked off to the side in a huge separate lot. Otherwise the clientele is people traveling across the state, from top to bottom or bottom to top. Still, I rarely encounter anyone in the women's restroom.
Of course you know that's not how it went on Wednesday, when I was feeling overwhelmingly... um... indisposed. I pulled the door open and rushed to the right, toward the handicap stall. It has hand rails, you know, to assist my knees in rising and lowering.
SWEET GUMMI MARY! There was an employee cleaning the women's restroom!
Of all the times for this to happen! She wasn't in the handicap stall, though. So I dodged around her collapsible trash bag on wheels, and saw with relief that the green VACANCY slot was showing on the lock. Once inside, I was hesitant to do my business. You know. With somebody else in there, listening. It's not like somebody else in another stall, doing her own business. This was an employee. Not doing business. Just cleaning up.
Well. My... um... indisposedness would not be denied. I didn't really have a choice in tabling my business till another time, perhaps when the worker left the restroom. WAIT! Oh, I couldn't wait, but I did hear someone enter a stall. As if to do her own business. So I figured the worker wouldn't know if it was me or the other gal who was being... um... indisposed.
Once my business was done, I left the stall (automatic flush) and went to the sink to wash my hands. At that very moment, the other stall opened up, and the employee came out!
SWEET GUMMI MARY! I'm pretty sure she knew that smell of... um... indisposedness came from ME, and not from her own self! She high-tailed it out of there after a cursory wash of her hands, though stopping to prop the door open with her foot to allow me to exit ahead of her! I made an immediate right, to head across the back aisle to get to the lottery ticket machine. Then I went back across the store for a 44 oz Diet Coke, where Farmer H met me to go pay.
Of course Farmer H was getting himself a FORBIDDEN CANDY BAR, a Milky Way, and a bottle of Diet Coke. He laid them on the counter, and I set my 44 oz Diet Coke beside them, and looked up to see that the cashier was THE SAME EMPLOYEE FROM THE RESTROOM!
I hope she didn't put up a picture of me from the surveillance camera, to bar me from future visits.
6 comments:
As far as I know, digestive systems do not randomly malfunction without reason. I suspect your chicken whatsit. based on that assumption, if it was me, I'd never buy it again, no matter how much the guarantee its freshness and proper cooking. I once had a similar experience with fish&chips and I've eaten them since, but never from that particular establishment.
Don't even think about your restroom experience anymore. It's over and done with and being a public facility, I'm sure the worker has heard and smelled worse.
River,
But it was so good! I think that's too fast for food poisoning to hit! Maybe next time, I'll have my other favorite there, the homemade pretzels with mustard dipping sauce.
I might have been agitated from the waitress's behavior. A story to be revealed on my other blog on Friday.
When you gotta go, you gotta go; you have no choice!!
fishducky,
YEAH! My best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel has no idea of the caliber of bullet she dodged!
My Adrienne calls it poop anxiety. We would all prefer to go in the comfort of home. As I age, I find that this is not always possible. Things don't hold as well as they used to!
Kathy,
At least I no longer have to take care of business during the 4 minutes between classes, with three or four of my colleagues lined up against the wall outside the door, waiting their turn during the 4 minutes.
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