Growing Up On The Road

I've decided to switch gears on this blog post. It's not that nothing is happening in my life, in fact there is just far too much. Not really. But I am presenting you with a story from my past until I can get my present life in order to give you a proper blog post. Enjoy!

I was roadtripping with my mom to my grandmother's house when I was about 13 or so. I was in the transition stage between being promised (and being overly enthusiastic) about getting treats for the drive and being able to handle the manageable 2 hour drive without stopping. I over estimated my abilities and after an extra large soda, I had an overwhelming need to use the bathroom. We stopped at a gas station and I rushed to the bathroom. I had to begin to unbuttoning my pants as I ran through the store; this was an emergency! I busted the door open to the stall and noticed that some indecent person had not flushed. Despite the rush I was in to get to the bathroom, I refused to use the dirty stall. It was a matter of principle.

I stood outside the stalls waiting for the next available one, tapping my foot to distract myself from my fear that my bladder was dangerously close to exploding. Then from inside the stall I had just busted open came a young girl, no older than four, timidly creeping out of the stall. I had pinned the poor girl against the wall of the stall after she finished her business. This young girl had probably just overcome her fear of using the bathroom alone only to be traumatized by an aggressive swinging stall door. I could only imagine that she finished up, so proud of herself and as she reached for the handle to flush she was flung to the side of the stall, trapped between the door and connecting wall. I was so uncomfortable; I wasn’t sure whether I should apologize--would she understand my reasoning? Did she even know a person had pushed the door or did she think it was just part of going to the bathroom alone? Just part of growing up? Finally the next stall opened and a woman came out.

“How was it, Sara?” it was the girl’s mother, “did you remember to flush?” I was about to chime in that no, no, she had not remembered to flush. But then I decided that it might be because of me that Sara will never be able to use the bathroom alone again. Sorry lady, you’re going to be accompanying your daughter for a few more years and sorry, Sara. My bad.