Dear Outdoor Gas Station Bathroom


Dear Outdoor Gas Station Bathroom-

I don’t feel like many people write you letters. You probably stopped checking your mailbox years ago. Maybe you’ve got the junk mail blues. I know you haven’t paid your bills. So, I thought I would acknowledge your existence because you have saved me from crapping my pants on numerous occasions. Although, in hindsight, maybe it would have been better to just shit my pants.

That was a low blow. I’m sorry.

To be honest, you’re really a weak bladdered or irritable bowel diseased person’s nightmare. It’s not your fault. Despite the large obnoxious wooden key that a person must ironically request from the apathetic or pissed off cashier to gain access to you, you’re not all that. You’re pretty sad. And disappointing and disgusting on multiple levels. Why you require a gigantic key has always baffled my mind.

It’s not your fault.

Some bathrooms are born into privilege, you know, being constructed inside of an establishment. Not you. You’re not quite a Johnny on the Spot, you never get to adventure to festivals or construction sites. You’re stuck behind that creepy gas station. You’re cold, stinky, and “out back.” But not like Australia. Toilet paper readily flees from your hostile living conditions. Has poor scared soap ever set foot into your locked chambers? I don’t think so. Your toilet silently cries out at your shit-smeared walls. Because it won’t flush.

Who does this? What kind of monster would smear shit on the walls of a gated community of sorts bathroom. (See that? I was trying to build you up) It makes me wonder what bacteria clings to the ridiculous key or is it a self-defense club to be used on the walk of shame as its returned to the cashier who probably wears a diaper most shifts or drinks nothing and is sworn into employment, “I solemnly swear to never, ever clean or walk inside the outdoor gas station bathroom.” And….You’re hired.

I feel like if you could break free and escape, maybe even make it to some shady park, you would be much happier. More fulfilled by the routine drug deal or flasher or occasional sound of children’s laughter. You’re the last resort. And that can’t feel good.

I will probably keep on using you on road trips. In desperate times. Until you go extinct.

Hang in there.


Amelia (the girl with quads of steel that holds her breath and ungracefully kicks your flusher and door before dramatically squeezing out to fresh air)

Daddy on a Plane


If you tilt your head back and look way high up to the sky, you might see a plane, it may be hidden by the dreary February clouds.

There may be all kinds of different people on that plane including a daddy. He hugged each child tightly before he said goodbye. Then, he leaned into the car and gave his wife one of those good kind of kisses. He carried his guitar on his back as he walked away inside to the airport terminal.

You may get to sit next to this daddy. He may ask if you need help getting your bag into the overhead compartment. He’s a helpful guy but he’s also a little worried about his guitar. He will ask if you would prefer the window seat, he usually likes to sit on the outside. If you seem friendly, he may talk to you about where you’re from or where you’re going. He will listen to you and make you feel like you’re the most important person. When it’s time for a drink, he will kindly ask the flight attendant for the whole Coke, not just the tiny airplane cup full.  He will probably listen to his music and he may sing, but you shouldn’t mind because he has a beautiful voice.

You may notice that he is different. He possesses this rare, endangered species kind of energy, love and passion for people and life. He will probably fidget or pull down the tray table or tap his foot or his leg. He doesn’t realize that he does this. It’s hard for him to sit still. He will pull out the in-flight magazine and laugh at the ridiculous things or find others that he needs to make or buy. If he has to go to the bathroom, he may see a guy who looks a lot like somebody he knows or he may make friends with random people in the aisles along the way.

If you sit next to this daddy, you’re lucky. I just thought you would want to know. Most nights, when he walks in the door, three boys run to him, pile on him, hug him and get as close as physically possible to him. They are so happy he’s home that they won’t stop touching him. He’s a bit of a celebrity. In his household. And while he’s away, he will be missed in both small ways, like taking out the garbage, and enormous, like offering endless support and counsel to his wife, kind of ways while he’s on that plane.

If you notice he seems a little sad, it’s probably because he wishes his family could be sitting next to him. Or he might be replaying last night’s dart game, where his wife beat him by one bullseye. Either way, please be kind to him. He’s one in a million.