A Memorable Pit Stop

We drove as long as possible.

I took the first exit at Culpepper. The sign spoke of many options, but proximity was key.

Shane and I pulled into a gas station half a mile down. My gut tied and untied itself in knots. I decided to fill up before going in.

I only held out for a gallon.

I half-dragged Shane in as he skipped along.

The bathroom was not a pretty sight. The floor was wet. I don't know with what. I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to Shane to think about it, either.

I was about to die, and beggars can't be choosers. I thrust my phone at Shane and gave in to impulse.

My intestines hurt. Shane occasionally asked for me to look up at his game.

Then things took another turn.

The bathroom handle jiggled.

The bathroom wasn't any prettier than when we found it. And now there was a line.

"Daddy!" Shane yelled. I thought he was excited about his game. "You have diarrhea!"

I regret Shane learned that word. His voice carries.

I commanded Shane not to talk/yell about bathroom matters. So, of course, he loudly announced it again. "And it's stinky!"

If Shane wasn't liable to run off or if I could have stood up I may have thrown him out the door right then. I probably would not have been able to afford the broken glass and damage he would have inflicted on the c-shop. A very quiet voice in my head said, "The best of times and the worst of times..."

I felt bad for the guy after me as we left. For one, he was wearing sandals.