On the road again… Girls retreat! It’s happy times. We’re going to have a week together up in a cabin in the mountains. Breath taking views, relaxing moments, wineries, orchards, jacuzzi etc. Y’all get the point, we were on our way to bliss.
It’s roughly a five hour car ride. Three of us in my car, the other two girls drove their own vehicles and we’re meeting us there. I love road trips! It’s wonderful to just drive, and forget the real world behind you. It was just me, two of my girls and the road.
Well and of course we made a few stops on the way. The elixir of life establishment, aka Starbucks was hit up quite a few times on the road. A lot of trenta iced green teas and coffee happened. You all know what happens when you drink a lot of liquid. Gotta make constant potty breaks.
We were on the highway and I needed to use the facilities. But naturally we had just passed the rest stop. So we took the next exit. Then turned left following the sign that directed us to a gas station. We are all thinking we’ll come up on the gas station soon.
The scenery around us are trees. Tree, after tree, after tree. No buildings, no concrete, no people, just trees. Oh my bad, there was a cow. But unfortunately it wasn’t one of the happy talking California milk cows or for those of you Southerners, no Chick Fil A cows either.
By the way, it’s all city girls in my vehicle. We don’t really enjoy the country so to speak. We were expecting to see civilization after we turned off the exit. Ten minutes later down the road we are going over a hill and then we see buildings. Eureka! We’ve found where the people are. We were starting to get a little concerned.
In front of us is the definition of an old, run down, country town. The gas station is on the left. I turn in, park, and swiftly make my way into the gas station to find a bathroom. I open the door, see the Indian gentleman behind the counter. He doesn’t say hi or any greeting whatsoever. He just points to a door. So I assume this is the door to the bathroom. I tell him thank you, and open the door. The girls haven’t made it in yet. But I know they’ll be in shortly.
I open the door and expect to see a restroom. But instead I’m in a long hallway. In this hallway there are cement dirty floors, flimsy looking walls (like I think I could have punched my fist thru the drywall with out much effort), an overhead fluorescent light that’s constantly flickering, a large industrial sink attached to a long countertop, there’s a door right next to the sink, there’s a bunch of crap in one corner, and posters on the walls. I thought to myself, fuck this is a serial killers den.
Just go with me for a minute. The door is the entrance to the back of the gas station. So he or she could park there shady serial killing van in back without being seen. Then bring in a dead body. The large industrial sink and counter could be used for getting rid of a body. Cement floors are easy to clean. But better lighting would be beneficial to any serial killer, just saying. The gas station has trash bags, duct tape, bleach, etc.
It’s a one stop shop for serial killers!
Oh shit. What have I just walked into? Okay, focus. Bathroom, bathroom, where’s the bathroom? Just find the bathroom, and don’t think about the fact that you could be killed before you even reach bliss.
The bathroom is at the end of this crazy hallway. I open the hollow, flimsy yet again door. It’s the size of a closet. It’s looks like it hasn’t seen disinfectant in years. The sink used to be white, now it’s cream with black stains. There’s a huge grey trash can between the sink and toilet. It’s filled almost to the brim with paper towels and assorted trash. I sit on the toilet. It moves! It’s not even glued to the nasty dirty tiles. So I now have to balance in order not to fall off the toilet. There’s a black trash bag spread on the wall behind the toilet. Its rustling and I can feel a draft behind me. Because apparently completing the wall for a bathroom was unnecessary. A black trash bag will do instead of drywall.
All I can think is someone is going to come up behind me and do who knows what. Or there’s another hole so, we have another wall for peeping tom’s.
I finish my business. Then make a swift exit. I pull out my hand sanitizer to use. Because there’s no way in hell I’m touching that sink. I don’t look to my left or right to see the serial killers den. I look at the door for my escape!
I open the door, back into the gas station. So thankful I made it out of that terror obstacle course. I’m not sure what the look on my face was. But it must have been interesting because my girlfriend looked at me and asked if I was alright. I told her beware, caution, it’s a danger zone in there.
I got back to the car, locked all my doors, pulled out my hand sanitizer and used it again. One of the girls walked out, I unlocked the doors and let her in. Her facial expression must have been what mine was previously. I told her serial killer bathroom. She replied definitely serial killer bathroom. Then pulled her hand sanitizer out of her purse and used some too.
We then turn and see what we can only assume is a local walking up to the gas station. She is wearing the following: lime green and fuschia plush pajama bottoms with frogs hopping on them (by the way it’s August in Georgia, it’s hot and humid), a fuchsia cami without a bra (she was well endowed and needed one), fuzzy bedroom slippers (because flip flops or sandals were just too difficult to put on), and hair in pink curlers.
I was wondering why when the girls and I were in the gas station we received interesting looks from the gentleman behind the counter and customers walking in and out. I originally thought it was because we weren’t locals. Nope, we apparently were overdressed. We were wearing comfy yet casual travel clothing: summer dress, jeans and short sleeved tops. There was no sign outside of the gas station that said wardrobe requirements, pajama bottoms.
As the two of us are staring at miss hop a long frog pjs walking out of the station with her cigarettes in hand. Our other girlfriend hops in the car. She looks as traumatized as we were. We both pull out our hand sanitizer for her. She puts out both her hands and thanks us for the sanitizer. Because she couldn’t believe what she just experienced either.
I lock all the doors again. Reverse and we get the hell out of dodge. Because who knows what could happens in towns without Starbucks… But I certainly wasn’t sticking around to find out.
Tip: There is no such thing as too much hand sanitizer.