A Day in the Life of a Women’s Rest Stop on Interstate 95 [COMMUNITY]

6:00 a.m. Janitor check-in time: Ahhhhhhh smell that? Bleach! Finally, I’ve been cleared of the olfactory sorrow left from that busload of teenagers heading back home after a day at Walt Disney World. Let’s see if today’s travelers do a better job at keeping me from smelling like a fisherman’s wharf.

7:32 a.m. Prepare for women who don’t read the disposal sign for feminine products: Seriously, lady? Clearly, you didn’t read the sign above the metal receptacle where there’s already a collection of mummified tampons waiting to be tossed. What are you trying to do, choke me?

9:01 a.m. Poop alert: Uh-oh, she has her headphones on. That means she brought her poop playlist. She’s gonna be here for a while.

10:45 a.m. Send out the first daily reminder: Wash your hands. WASH YOUR HANDS!

11:13 a.m. Tinkle alert: Don’t blame me if the seat is wet. That last tinkler hovered above me and sprayed like a cat. You might want to wash your backside with some hand sanitizer when you’re done.

12:00 p.m. Lunch break: I don’t know what you’re smoking but I’d love a hit.

1:01 p.m. 15-minute group therapy: Well, Carol, I don’t know who Brad was texting while you were scanning the road for the Fort Pierce exit, but I’m pretty sure Kandy with a “K” is NOT his cousin. Cry and talk a little louder on your cell so the rest of the women waiting in line to use this stall know what you did last night at the Motel 6.

1:15 p.m. Play Potty roulette: What’s behind stall door number one, two or three? Take your pick—we’re all filthy!

2:04 p.m. Clean up in stall #2: Holy crap, WHAT IS THAT SMELL?? Call the plumber—we have a floater!

3:00 p.m. Naptime: I really look forward to this quiet time in the stall, just before rush hour hits. Shout out to all the ladies with Paruresis. This hour belongs to you, my bladder-shy friends!

5:36 p.m. Send out a second daily reminder: Flush the toilet. FLUSH THE TOILET!

6:10 p.m. Art class: That’s a lovely drawing of the male anatomy but my walls are not designed to be your personal canvas. And it’s not nice to refer to Kevin as a dick.

7:22 p.m. Pray to the patron saint of air fresheners: The senior citizens’ bus just rolled in from the bingo tournament in Vero Beach. Brace yourselves; flatulence is coming.

10:38 p.m. Toilet paper refill time: Honey, you’re gonna need a LOT more paper for that.

1:00 a.m. Puke alert: That’s okay, I got you, girl. I’m guessing too many Jager Bombs? Here’s some advice: Pop two aspirin, chug a bottle of Gatorade and eat a bag of greasy potato chips. You’ll feel good as gold in the morning, and no one will ever know you spent your Friday night praying to the porcelain god.

2:44 a.m. Border run: Seriously, you had to have Taco Bell’s Steak Rattlesnake Fries?

2:45 a.m. Flush?

2:46 a.m. Flush again: Hello??

2:47 a.m. FLUSH! WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?

4:00 a.m. Ignore cat-like howling: Pay no attention to the dude in here with his girl. They reek of Budweiser. Oh for fuck’s sake, do I look like a gas station restroom to you? Practice the Kama Sutra in your own damn bathroom.

4:30 a.m. Contemplate life’s greatest mystery: Why does corn look the same coming out as it does going in?

6:00 a.m. Janitor clock- in: I’m so happy to see you! I’ve had a crappy 24 hours, dude. Whoa, another busload of teenagers? They’re the miscreants of bathroom etiquette! Let’s just slap a “BIOHAZARDOUS MATERIALS INSIDE” sign on my stall door and call it a day‚Ķ

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