Hmm, that reminds me. Guess I'll do my storytime post now.
The Revenge of the Truck Stop Coffee
(or, Nice Guys Shit Their Pants, Part 2)
For most of my life, I didn't drink coffee at all. Thought it was gross. Then I started working a normal-hours job, and got used to drinking coffee every morning.
That led to me being a sort of coffee snob, but not in the usual way...instead, I decided I liked the blackest, most bitter coffee you could possibly brew. No sugar, no cream, no problem. I live for the stuff that comes out of a truck stop coffee pot at 3 AM, with one of those frozen sausage biscuit sandwiches to go with it. I've always had an iron stomach and I take advantage of that fact whenever possible.
So when I left our place in South Carolina at 8 AM, and stopped at this truck stop just before getting on I-95, the coffee situation was the least of my worries. There was just enough left in the 'dark roast' pot to fill a 20-ounce cup. The lady at the cash register asked me if I wanted to wait a few minutes for a fresh pot, and I told her no, I wanna get on the road, this will be just fine.
And it was, til about an hour later. After finishing the last sip of what was a pretty awful cup of coffee, I had a major gut-spasm and thought to myself, this might have been a mistake.
(sidebar: I ate a TON of great mexican food the night before. Steak fajita burrito with enchilada sauce, the whole deal.)
So I'm driving north on I-95, watching the exit signs for something with a decent bathroom to come along. Beggars can't be choosers and I take the first exit I see with a gas station/restaurant, namely a Bojangles. I park, run inside, and ask the guy at the register where the bathroom is.
"Go towards the restaurant, down the hallway on your right, first door."
Great. I duck-walk towards the hallway, turn the corner, and almost collide with this ancient dude hobbling towards the bathroom with a walker.
Even in my distressed condition, I'm certainly not gonna elbow an old guy with a walker out of the way. He makes it to the door and can't open it because the closer spring is too stiff. I gladly hold the door open and help him maneuver his walker through the door, only to find that a) there is only one toilet stall and b) he's headed for it.
Greater. So I hold the stall door open for him, and go back outside to sit and wait. And wait. While 4 other guys ask me if the bathroom is full, and I say no, I'm waiting for someone. Meanwhile my stomach is on full spin cycle and my sphincter muscle is dying of lactic acid buildup.
10 minutes later, I finally hear the metallic clank of a walker being pushed past a toilet stall door. I go back into the bathroom as the old guy is washing his hands, and against my better judgment I help him get back out the main door, only to find his wife(?) standing there.
"Oh, thank you so much for helping him, it's so nice to see young people who are still respectful of their elders."
...
"It's no big deal, don't worry about it, it's the least I could do."
Thinking to myself, yeah I'm a nice guy, but I'm really doing this just to expedite the entire damn process so I can get in the stall and finally take care of business.
And boy, what a business it was. The kind where you're afraid to un-clench even when sitting because of the hellstorm that's about to be unleashed. The toilet scene with Jeff Bridges in 'Dumb & Dumber' has nothing on what I experienced. I swear my entire stomach ended up in the bowl. After the first salvo was depleted, I sat for a minute to recuperate while some other unfortunate soul came in to use the urinal. He flushed, and suddenly the toilet erupted below me. WTF?
Turns out, this bathroom had some sort of plumbing oddity where flushing any one toilet lowered the water pressure enough that all the other toilet valves opened. I shit you not, this guy that flushed the urinal caused my toilet to enter full-on vacuum-assist flush mode. Which is good, when you're done, but not so good when you're still sitting on it. After the tempest under me subsided, I let my intestines and pancreas drop into the bowl as well, and noticed that I had but a meager supply of toilet paper to deal with the resulting disaster.
Rationing squares for a cleanup of this magnitude is NOT how you want to start the rest of your 800-mile road trip.
I did the best I could with what I had, finally stood up, and with no small amount of discomfort noted that the backsplash of my intestinal fury had made its way beyond the bowl and onto the back of the seat & back of the toilet fixture itself. With nothing left to clean with, I gave up and went to the sink, just as another old guy with a walker (!) came in the door and headed for the stall.
XXXX being the nice guy, I'm outta here.
Feeling not-so-fresh, I made it a few hundred miles more til lunchtime, where at a Wawa I bettered my situation, got a sandwich, and found some elusive 4lokos too. The rest of the ride home was uneventful.
I think I'll be carrying a roll of TP in my glove box from now on.