Public Rest Rooms, A Few Short Notes

I have a fairly long commute.

The same distance that takes 40-45 minutes each morning at 6 AM

can take as long as two hours in the throes of rush hour.

Especially in winter.

Unfortunately, I was not blessed with a bladder built for the long haul.

Each night on the way home

I find myself wrestling with the imminent threat of sudden onset narcolepsy

or a painfully overinflated water balloon down south screaming

"NOW!NOW!NOW!HAFTA GO NOW!"

On those really special evenings I'm juggling both.

So it goes without saying that one thing I don't like

is finding myself without access to a place to stop

or, more important and more frequent,

a place to "go".

So tonight, on my way home, I got a double whammy.

A worst case scenario if you will.

I have this new credit card (Yes. This all fits. It is all going to come together. I promise.).

If I use this new credit card at a particular gas station chain, which shall remain nameless, I get ten cents off the regular price of every litre of gas I buy for the first month. Needless to say, I have purchased fuel at no other gas station marquis but this one for the last 30 days without fail.

On this particular occasion I found myself in stop-and-go traffic and in a very precarious situation. I was half-way between my usual two gas bars with no way to know how long the journey home would take. I knew darn well I was not going to make it home without a pit-stop.

Luckily, traffic being as slow as it was allowed me to test just how smart my smart-phone is

(I never do this while driving ... as a rule)

and I quickly located another gas bar bearing the logo of choice not too far out of my way.

It still took another 15 uncomfortable minutes to get there.

I pulled in, politely and precariously fuelled up first before going to the attendant, paying for the fuel and only then asking for the location of the rest room.

"We don't have public washrooms," said the attendant who appeared to have slightly less concern for his personal appearance and hygiene that the average homeless person.

"Yikes! Now what?"

Part of me is appalled that any gas station, especially one situated just off an inter-urban expressway, would not extend the courtesy of a restroom to its customers. Another part of me was glad I didn't have to touch the same bathroom door handle this individual had in all probability made contact with repeatedly throughout the day.

Yes.

It was that bad.

Do you ever think of the perfect thing to say 5 minutes after you wish you had said it? This was one of those times. I found myself cursing under my breath clenching more than my teeth as I made my way to the next rest stop wondering if I should have commented aloud on the attendant's sloppy hygiene or at least threatened to lift my leg on the door of his booth.

He couldn't possibly have exited that claustrophobic cubicle of his

fast enough to beat my bladder to the finish line.

But my aching bladder was not my only cross to bear on that particular journey home.

It turns out that the last day I was eligible 

for the 10 cent per litre discount on gas 

was yesterday.