Tres Relatitos

A WOMAN IN THE MEN’S ROOM

  It was in The Southland a few years ago. 

  I was driving along on I-81 in Virginia when I needed to visit a tinklelarium…if you don’t know that word it means a bathroom…I needed a bathroom break.

  I pulled into a Stuckey’s.

  You know what a Stuckey’s is…it’s a travel store.  There seems to be fewer and fewer Stuckey’s these days.  They were a big thing back in the day, full of snacks and tchotchkes:  Rubber alligators and spiders, tourist travel mugs, t-shirts, stuff like that.

  Anyway I parked my ride and moseyed inside and headed straight for the bathrooms.

  I had been looking up and down at the stuff on the shelves so I really wasn’t looking up when I opened the door to the men’s room.

  The first thing I saw was a skirt.

  “Whoa!” I thought to myself and immediately backed out.

  I checked to make sure I was in the right place.  Yup, sign said “Men’s Room.”

  What the hell was a woman doing in the men’s room?

  I had half a notion to open the Women’s Room door to see if it was packed with waiting women but I thought better of it.

  What was a woman doing in the Men’s Room?

  I thought I’d make a joke about it when she came out but I thought better of that too.  What if she was a grumpy woman?

  The conversation might go something like…

  Me:       “Women’s Room overcrowded, eh?”

  Grumpy:  “Does it really matter?  Think I’m gonna be shocked in the Men’s Room?  I heard a saying one time:  If it’s something I ain’t seen before I’ll shoot it.”

  My imaginary conversation was interrupted by the opening of the Men’s Room door.

  Out strode a man…

  …in a Scottish-type kilt.

  A kilt, not a dress.

  I waited for him to pass and I walked right in to the Men’s Room.

A used condom by the side of the road.  Rudeness!  

Someone passing their load on to the rest of us.

Oh well.  It brought back a memory....

RUBBER ON THE ROAD

  I saw it a couple of years ago.

  I was out for a morning walk with the “dawgs” in West Pensacola, Florida.

  There it was, laying by the side of the road.

  A used condom.

  Or as we used to call them back home in the mountains, “a rubber.”

  It was the first time in a long time I’d seen one of these things by the side of the road.

  My first thought was how daggone rude for someone to just pass their load, a used condom, on to the rest of us.

  Then a condom memory came back to me.

  When I was just a wee lad of 8 years old growing up in Roanoke, Virginia me and my buddy Catfish would find these things, still in their sealed packages, out behind our elementary school. 

  When you’re 8 years old there are things you don’t understand.

  For one, why would we find these things behind our elementary school.

  Well, I would realize years later it was a good place to go “parking.”  “Parking” is when you and your girlfriend go to a place where no one might bother you and “canoodle.”  But I was 8 years old and had no idea about “canoodling.”

  The other thing I NEVER understood is why they were still unopened.

  I remembered the first time I ripped open one of the little packs.

  I had no idea what it was. 

  I asked my source of knowledge of everyday kid stuff, my buddy Catfish, what it was.

  When Catfish told me I WAS SHOCKED!

  As I looked at the rubber with an 8 year old brain I had a great idea:  "THIS WOULD MAKE A GREAT WATER BALLOON!" 

  So I filled it up with water.

  It got bigger and bigger and bigger…bigger than any water balloon I’d ever handled…big as a WATERMELON.

  I whipped it 'round and 'round my head like I was Little David who'd picked up a smooth flat slick river rock for my slingshot and was about to SLAYETH Goliath....and FLUNG! 

  KOOSH!

  Oh HO!  I had discovered a secret weapon to use in me and my buddy Catfish’s frequent “battles” with the neighborhood girls.

  That was a simpler time.

  When a good time was sitting on my grandmother’s back porch having a fried bologna sandwich and washing it down with a Grapette.

  And throwing water filled condoms at girls as they ran away screaming.

OH COME ON, JUST ONE PARTING SHOT

  I got an email from the state employment agency that handles the Pensacola, Florida area.

  They were having a job fair.

  My blood pressure went up a couple of ticks.

  “Pensacola, sheesh,” I muttered under my breath.

   I opened the email and looked for where I could unsubscribe to their mailing list.  I clicked on the link.

  I clicked “unsubscribe.”

  “Why are you unsubscribing” asked the email.

  It gave me some options.

  I chose “other,” because, you know friends, when they give you that “other” choice they usually give you a box to elaborate on why you want to unsubscribe.  Being control freaks they seem to HAVE TO KNOW why you want to unsubscribe.

  And elaborate I did.

  With what space they give you.

  They gave me space for 150 characters.

“I have returned to New Mexico.  I will always remember Pensacola for low wages, age discrimination and quantifying job candidates versus qualifying job candidates.”

  The Lady of the House and I moved to Pensacola back in 2015. 

  I was glad to get the hell out of there 2 years later.

  I think I’ll leave it at that.

  Ma and Pa Kettle go to The Big City and found it wanting.

  I’m skipping a lot of details.  If I wrote them down I might sound like some grumpy old fart.

  Oh well.

  As my buddy Duane said, “Let it go.”

  I doubt I’ll hear back from the state employment agency that sent me the email.

  I’m sure someone will chalk it up as just another letter from some sour-grapey old dude.

  If they read it at all.

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