THIS IS BASED ON A FACTUAL ACCOUNT Once upon a time Amanda and I went on a date. It was a casual affair with some pizza at a place in Hartland and video games at an arcade in Brighton. The food was delish and the arcade was vintage with a dash of hipster. It was a very fun evening and much fun was had by all. The arcade closed at midnight and we blew through our twenty bucks by 11:30PM and decided to head for home. As soon as I hit the parking lot I felt the rumble guts start. It was a distant thunder but there were storms approaching and not just inside the stomach, but along the many miles we had until we reached home. Now, for those not in the ‘know’ Brighton, Michigan is about 45 minutes from Flint, where we live. So it’s not a long drive but it’s a drive. I was never going to make it. The guts started to twist and I started to shout and so I made it to Hartland, about ten minutes from Brighton and knew I needed to hit the bathroom. I stopped at one gas station and their rest rooms were out of order. I stopped at another and the place was packed and for the potential evil that must be done I needed no audience so I sped away cursing the people of the world and praying for time and salvation. I was twenty minutes from a rest area. Twenty minutes. I chanced fate and made for a safe haven. The guts knew no mercy and would have nothing of mercy and as the miles sped by the time was growing shorter. I was about to become an infant, once more. And as we made our way for hope the rains came, hard and fast, slowing our progress and making the situation even direr. We hit Fenton and it was code brown. I was dying, it was clear, and there was nothing Amanda could do about it. I apologized to her for my early death and punched it and my little Neon lurched forward and we reached 90 miles an hour, the rains having temporarily subsided, and slowly my destination got closer and closer and closer. I wasn’t going to make it. I had played a dangerous game of Russian Poo-lette and had lost. On the horizon the Rest Area appeared like a vision of Heaven and I made for it, knowing that time was up. I headed for the closest entrance, which was where the truckers parked and I put the car in park and literally ran into the building. Now, most of you have no notion of it but I wrote a story once called I See You about a killer in a rest stop and every time I hit a Rest Area I think of that story and this time was no different. I had no time for idle thoughts though so I rushed into the restroom, which was mercifully empty and I took the first stall and got to the business at hand. Sweet mercy I had survived. As I pondered the mysteries of existence another person entered the room. The came slowly and quietly but I heard them nonetheless and saw their shadow as they stopped outside my stall. The walls to the stalls are about six feet so you’d have to WANT to look over them but you could so I suddenly felt a little exposed. The person stood outside my door a moment then moved to the next stall, stood, then the last and I figured he’d found his ‘sweet spot’. A moment later the door in the stall beside me closed and I realized he was right next door. I wasn’t sure I wanted to risk the roads yet so I turned my attention to my phone (don’t judge me, we all do it, or most of it, and it’s my airborne poo particles, I’ll get it on my phone if I want to!) to pass the time. The stall beside me was eerily silent. Ah, another person with a bit of bathroom modesty, I figured. A few more moments passed and I leaned back and to the left a little and saw through a small floor level porthole that was about four inches high and eight wide and saw a person’s sneakers and track pants. Whatever. Back to my phone. Still no sound of any kind and I was feeling odd about it so I lean back again and see him bent down and looking at me through the porthole. I froze. I didn’t know what to do or to say. It was just…weird. So weird. He didn’t say anything and when he saw me he pulled away. I put my phone away and realized that maybe I needed to risk the trip home – to dare the devil, if you will. I leaned back again, drawn to the danger and saw him looking again, silent and straining to see and I had had enough. I kicked a leg out and blocked the porthole and took care of business and got myself ready to move out. I made a break for the sink and quickly washed my hands, my eyes in the mirror watching to see if my pooping peeper would emerge. As soon as my hands were washed I trucked it out of there and jogged back to the car and hauled out of there and headed for home. I had had enough of the brown madness. I can speculate all day why the pooping peeper was peering towards my peenie but the fact is I have no idea. He never spoke once, just leered. It was weird, even by my standards. But there it is – The Terror That Came From Stall Number 2.
Posted on: Tue, 09 Sep 2014 14:04:55 +0000
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