The “Emergencier” in Road Ranger

The drive my mother and I were on was taking forever.  After passing a horrible accident and getting over my anxiety of running out of gas in front of the honking semi behind us, traffic cleared and we took a pit stop at a Road Ranger.  It is the only gas station I know that has a McDonald’s attached to it.  Either way, I booked it for the bathroom.

I walk in and there are two stalls.  I have always had this fear of entering the first stall.  If someone has to up-chuck or god knows what else, it is brutal to find the stalls that are open.  I usually like to be courteous and leave the first stall for the “emergenciers.”

Anyway, my fear was confirmed.  The first stall in this Road Ranger was clearly used for emergencies.  It had been sprayed all over.  I usually do good deeds and will clean it but boy it had been quite the car ride.  I go to the next stall over.  Not one minute later, a woman comes click, clacking in her heels.  She bolts into the first stall.

“That sucks,” I think to myself.

But then I watch her feet.  She faced the toilet, (always a bad sign).  She cleaned it and when she sat down, she sighed and what sounded like a giant, hot air balloon blew out into the toilet.

“Oops.  That slipped out,” I think to myself. “That happens.”

…it happens again.  But this time with a spray afterwards.  The poor thing is probably mortified but then again I’m being polite by not acknowledging it…out loud.  Here I am, sitting in the stall, all of a sudden I become a professional mime.  There is a new hand movement and flail of my arms for each new noise that sneaks, or more accurately terrorizes, its way into my stall.

I quickly finished and dove at the sink.  Fearful to breathe, a symphony of bodily noises continue coming from the first stall.

The emergency stall.

At this rate I feel horrible for this woman.  She has got to be mortified.  I turn the sink on full blast and instead of using paper towels, I use the hand air dryer.  Everyone can relate when I say that we secretly think to ourselves, “please, God let her use the hand dryer…hurry up!” If you can’t relate then you are lying to yourself.

I turned the dryer on as fast as I could in hopes the woman would recognize that I can understand where she is coming from. Let’s be honest with ourselves, we all dread public bathrooms.  So I vouch for everyone to pay it forward by using the air dryers and loud sinks as much as possible when there is an ounce of crisis in the public bathrooms.

I can live with the fact that I was that poor woman’s saving grace that day.


Not so known facts of life

When girls go to the bathroom, they don’t want to be bothered.  It is just a known fact between women.  Guys have their “bro code” and women just have known facts, like never discussing what kind of fruit the women’s breasts at bunco represent.  Like men who aren’t “with it” when it comes to bro code, some women are completely oblivious to the facts women should know.

In a frequent trip to the library bathroom, a young lady had found it her business to tell me everything she ate that day.  She followed with, “so, how do you feel about Obama?”

She can’t be serious.  She preluded with a high fiber protein bar and concluded with Obama?  I didn’t eat a big enough breakfast for this. 

I responded, “I don’t really like politics.  But I don’t have a problem with him.  I think people are going to have an issue with whoever the president is.”  She nodded, agreeing.  Nothing could have prepared me for what came out of her mouth next.

This may be more than PG so I am just forewarning readers that even though it is a natural process, caution when reading on.

“Have you ever had a yeast infection?  Or an STD?” For those who aren’t familiar with other facts, Virginia is not discussed unless you are a good friend, significant other or relative.


I am a complete stranger to this girl. I am first a little offended because does it look like I’m the type of girl that would contract an STD frequently?  But then again I have to remember that this girl clearly had more on her mind than going about her duty in the bathroom because we had been standing at the sink for almost five minutes.  In the time it took her to get out everything she needed to say, I had moved from the sink to the paper towel dispenser.  A whopping two feet.

At this point I wouldn’t have been surprised had she admitted she was hiding a body in her backpack.

I would like to know what made this girl so sure that I wanted to hear about her unfortunate situation.  Maybe she didn’t have anyone else to tell.  Or maybe she’s trying to self diagnose.  Whatever the case, I wish her the best but I apparently shouldn’t look so personable next time.

Terrified for what would be asked next, I briskly made my way to the door.  “Wait,” she said.  “I didn’t get your name.”

I replied with, “Virginia.”

My stomach is eating itself

Here we go.  You sit up at the edge of your bed and curl up into the fetal position because your stomach has decided to enter a competition entitled, “who can stay on the tilt-a-whirl the longest!?” Virginia either decided she was tall enough for the ride, or simply wanted to get back at you for eating that spicy taco with extra guacamole.  Whatever the cause, today she is pissed.

So there you lay. Clenching your knees that are now burrowed under your chin to pressurize your stomach.  Your husband, boyfriend or maybe girlfriend…rolls over, looks at you and says, “oh that again huh?”  Or, if you have nice siblings like mine they would say, “are you pretending to have a baby?”  Better yet that money question, “is it that time of the month again?”  Here is where Virginia makes me lose all self control and I say, “SHUTUP AND RUB MY BACK! SCREW YOU! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS FEELS LIKE!”  After the pulsating vein in the side of my neck relaxes, I realize they had a point.  I was laying there, knees hugged tight, moaning like a dying donkey.  But they don’t understand this kind of pain unless of course, they have a constant spell of diarrhea.

You make it through your morning and arrive at work or in my case, class.  You sit prepared for the day and about ten minutes into the time you entered the building…she gurgles.  Quickly you grab your stomach, hoping no one can hear it.  But it gets louder.  The sound of a hippo choking on its lunch lurks inside your stomach, inflating the pelvic walls with every moan.  The pressure builds and now you have to stand up to give it more room.  It is time to get to the bathroom.  People are staring now, wondering if you are hiding a punching baby gorilla under your shirt because with each step your back hunches closer and closer to the ground.  It’s like you have mastered the standing fetal position.

You reach the bathroom and there is another woman in there.  Both of your stomachs together make a marching band with an exceptional drum-line.  Sweating now, you can hear the music, dun dun dun!  You both look at each other with that oh so familiar look…

Both of you share a pain stricken giggle and make way into the stalls.  This is where my personal experience comes into play.

There I was sitting in the stall and this woman, exploding might I add, hollers over the stall wall first to ask if I had a boyfriend and then to say, “I’ve been with my husband for 14 years.  I think he is cheating on me but I can’t seem to figure out why.”  Elbows on my knees, head in hands, screw squatting, this day has been rough, I say to her, “oh. well that’s unfortunate.”  Having to cut off my bathroom break, I flush the toilet to flush out her discussion of the disintegrating sex life between her and her cheating husband.  As I wash my hands, she leaves me with this piece of advice,

“Staple your legs shut because once you sew a zipper between there, it is much easier for a guy to control when the zipper stays shut or when it unzips.”

Having absolutely no idea what this little bathroom lesson is supposed to teach me I just say through the door, “oh haha..yea I guess so,” and walked out.  Not only was my break to release the hippo, punching gorilla, and marching band interrupted, I now can’t step foot in that bathroom again, for fear she might still be lurking in that stall.

Virginia: 1 You: 0

And this is why teens should not have sexual relations

To be honest, sex was kind of a taboo topic when I was younger.  Now a days it seems to be a regular part of introducing yourself.  I understand this is kind of a heavy topic to start out with but in all honesty, where in the world do some kids get off thinking it is okay to let ‘er ride? Maybe I’m just old school but one doesn’t waste that on just anyone…that’s what college is for.  I mean if one can’t even say the word “condom” then they probably shouldn’t be doing anything that involves the plastic, balloon like disgustingness anyway.  Either way, I digress.

What originally brought this up were three young girls in a Walmart bathroom.  My mom and I were trying to get in and get out because, well, you can only be in there for so long before you have the urge to shower again just get the smell and germs off of you (Not to say that all Walmart bathrooms are disgusting.  They have done a rather nice job of remodeling).  Anyway, one of the girls dressed in her glittery jewelry and pink purse to match yelled from the stall, referencing to Virginia, “does it have two holes or three?”  First of all, how dare she insult Virginia like that.  It is just rude to neglect her presence enough to not know how many entries she has.  And second, the first thing that popped into my head was, “they really didn’t teach you that in school?”  Of course, my mom chimes in and informs the girl of the correct information.  Her two friends stood there embarrassed but in the same time with that awkward half smile and giggle that says, “please answer because I don’t know either.”

Here I am thinking, a person’s “first time” would probably go over much better if he knew AND she knew where to find Virginia.  She’s pretty good at hiding.  This is probably good because she is highly inappropriate and you can’t bring her exposed in public just anywhere.  It is frowned upon by many people.  I’m pretty sure the law doesn’t allow her presence in many places.  But that’s beside the point.  To get back on track, knowing where to find Virginia and how she works as a being is essential to knowing how she is going to act. I hope that poor girl learned a little lesson that day.  And I hope Virginia wasn’t left feeling too ashamed.

For Future Reference…


“Before you walk down the isle you have to ask yourself, if this man was broke, laid up in a wheelchair, and I would have to wipe his butt every fricken hour, would I still want to be with him? If the answer is yes, then proceed down the isle way, and if not, then run…and run fast.”

-Some random lady I met in the bathroom not happy about her twelve year marriage to her husband. “God he sucks.”