The Crazy Old Lady

In those trucks on a daily basis there is a whole lot of liquid ingested in various, non-alcoholic versions. So at some point, that liquid needs to find a good way out. As you can imagine, anyone who spends their time working on the road knows the best places to stop to relieve themselves, and we were no different. To this day, I can name all the best truck stops, gas stations, and fast food joints between Eden and Charlotte to go the bathroom.1

But this, too, is a learning experience. And even when you have learned where to go and where not to go, you are always subject to moments of complete weirdness that cannot be explained. You never know who you will meet in the bathroom.2

On this particular day we were about half way through with our work and we searched for a place to do double duty: lunch and pit stop. We traveled up the road taking in the various options and battling over what we wanted. 3

Now, this particular partner and I had been together for a long time. I think in total we were partners for seven months. But never did we agree on anything important, like where to eat. But we agreed that eating at the same place was a must. We both gave up on getting home in a reasonable amount of hours pretty early on in our career, but we knew stopping at two different places for lunch was over kill.4

We finally agreed on a local McDonalds. This was a fancy place for a fast food joint, too. It was an old fashioned McDonalds, complete with Golden Arches through the roof and a functioning juke box inside. Definitely not the type of fast food place you see daily, but it has won a place on our list of good places to pee. 5

I was strictly a driver at this point, so at pit stops I was usually awarded the first run in to the store since someone had to stay inside the truck at all times. Spending twelve to twenty hours seated in the truck tends to cramp the legs a bit, and any messenger who valued his life let his driver get up and walk around first.6

So I got out, not really looking forward to the meal ahead, but planning on the cheeseburger and fries thing. First things first, however. I had three bottles of water to expel from my bladder. So I head for the bathroom.7

Once the in stall duties had been completed, I stepped out to the sink where I straightened out my tan and green uniform in some hopes of looking presentable and professional like any good security guard. I strapped my duty belt back into place, nestling in to the heavy revolver at my side again. 8

As I was bent over the sink washing up, I realized I had company. Looking over my shoulder I saw a small, thin white haired woman with a pink blouse and black pants. Her lips were puckered to show irritation and she folded her arms across her chest. So I grabbed a paper towel to dry my hands and turned to face her head on.9

What I was greeted with was not a hello, but rather a long list of what was wrong with the sink, how it should be fixed, and how long she had been waiting for the sink to be repaired. Apparently, she had dropped some ketchup from a fry to her shirt, and was in desperate search of some water to blot at it with. Her tone was unfriendly and demanding, and she spoke just fast enough to keep me from getting a word in.10

So I finally got a word in edge wise and told her I was not able to fix the sink.11

"Why not?"12

"It's not my job. I'm a security guard."13

"And security guards can't fix sinks? Or are they not letting you do it?" 14

"Um...they don't fix sinks if they don't work for the place."15

"If you don't work here, then what are you doing here?"16

"Well, I assume you don't work here either. What are you doing here?"17

"I am a paying customer!"18

"So am I, lady. After ten hours behind the wheel of an armored truck, one needs to pee."19

I didn’t bother waiting for a reply and retreated to the safety of the truck. Upon hitting my seat once again, I noticed her starring at me through the window of the restaurant. I briefly told my partner about the exchange and told him to watch out. He laughed at it and left for his own lunch.20

Ten minutes later, my partner comes flying out of the McDonalds, tears running down his cheeks as he laughs so hard he can barely walk. He gets in and I look at him expectantly.21

The lady got him, too! She somehow managed to follow him into the men’s room because this was an issue of utmost importance. He didn’t bother trying to explain to her what I did. Instead he laughed and replied, "Sure, lady...I'm a friggin' armed janitor!"22