an obligatory fry purchase to create a quid pro quo for peeing in a semi-public restroom
You know, I'm basically a traveling salesman, so I do a lot of driving and a lot of drinking--not alcohol necessarily--but stupid bottled drinks like: Arizona Iced Tea, Snapple, Starbucks coffee, that new weird fruit water stuff, etc. Because of this I often have the need to pull off the road and take a whiz.
Now as much as I can I try to observe the general practice of buying some sort of item from the gas mart or restaurant whose bathroom I am using. But sometimes you're just like, "fuck it" I've already had seven bottled drinks today, two packs of gum, a couple of bagels, a philly cheese sandwich, etc--I don't need or want anything at all, I just want to take a piss for thirty seconds and get out of here. The proprietor of this business is not going to know the difference and the poor pimply kid who scrubs the toilet and the urinal, well what's a couple more drips and pubic hairs to him.
I guess my point is, becuase of my occupation, I've had to say, "fuck it, I'm just using your bathroom," more than the average person. And every time I do, I feel a lilttle knot in my stomach as I walk to and from the facilities. On the way to the toilet, I think, how would they know I'm not going to make a purchase after I go. And then on the way out I'm like, how can they be sure I didn't already buy something, or maybe I've got to get my wallet out of my car, or maybe I think: what the fuck are they going to do about it know, I've already gone!!!!
But here's my point: for all the times that I've fouled the bathroom of a business which I did not patronize-- no one has ever questioned me or hassled me about it. Not once. Ever. Knock on porcelain.
This personal background, however, is why I was surprised to hear the story Rachel told me last night about a trip to McDonald's in Gulfport, Florida--only a few blocks from my original ghetto car insurance office, by the way.
Coming back from her evening law class at Stetson, Rachel made a pitstop at the local Micky Ds to powder her nose. Now knowing Rachel, I'm sure she powdered her nose in a very clean and discreet and orderly way. Thinking that everything was fine and dandy she proceeded to exit the McDonalds and head over to my place for a quiet evening backgammon and carrot juice.
But when she got to the McDonald's exit door, Rachel was accosted by one of the McDonald's employees.
(I paraphrase, and take artistic license with the following dramatic exchange):
"Hey girl! Whatchu' think you doin'?"
"Pardon me?" Rachel said, with a pleasant and unconfrontational demeanor.
"I said, whatchu think you be doin', uzin our baffroom and not buyin' nothin? Hmm?"
Rachel turned and took a couple steps back towards the portly and greased glazed countenance of the fast food worker.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, in an uncharacteristically sweet manner. "I just really had to go and I'm not really hungry."
"Oh, so you aint really hungry? But you think you can jus be comin' in here and usin' our baffroom like its your own personal thang. BAFFROOM IS FOR CUSTOMERS ONLY!!!! You gots to buy something."
At this moment I would have expected Rachel to drop her sweet facade and lay into the minimum wage bathroom gestapo with some salty, New Jersey girl rhetoric. But instead she continued to be diplomatic.
"Well, alright then," she said approaching the stainless steel counter. "I'll get an order of fries for my boyfriend."
"Damn straight you better get an order of fries."
The McDonald's policewoman shoveled the scooper in the fry bin and doled out a large order of fries and rang them up for Rachel.
When at last they closed up the Mc Donald's that night, the McDonalds's policewoman still had to clean the bathrooms and she got not one penny more in her paycheck for the additional fry sale she had made.
I didn't want the fries myself and they ended up getting thrown in the trash.
8:54:15 AM 
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