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Driving ten hours straight was not something that I was looking forward to. I am a big fan of our Honda Element but I am the first to admit that the seats are not the most comfortable and there is a point after 4 hours or so where your entier lower body starts to feel as if it is bruised. There was a time when we were younger and a drive of 12 hours to Maine would have been nothing big. Just keep the car full of coffee and Camel lights and plow straight through. These days our bodies (and our 5 year old) do not seem to react well to such things.

The obvious solution is to schedule a stop…which is what we did.

I had never been to “South of the Border”. I had seen signs for it many times but my parents always took a different route to the beach when I was a child. I had planned on posting photos of Owen climbing on things and pointing at things but we stayed a total of ten minutes. I feel sympathy for my wife because this place seems to be an important part of her memories of good times with her family and traveling. For myself I can say that “South of the Border” is an apt name in that one feels as if you are in Juarez, Mexico immediately. Buildings are older and not in good repair. None of the shops take credit cards. Graffiti everywhere. Not innocuous “steve was here” graffiti. This is gang sign.

Anyhow, I decided that since we had stopped, and since I was feeling a certain degree of “urgent pressure” on my bladder wall that I would find a restroom and take care of the issue.

Picture a bank of yellowing urinals, some not working, others making a hissing sound as the flush mechanism fails to hold back the precious water even in the absence of urine. Then picture a cracked concrete floor and cinder-block walls each covered with layers of paint that are so prolific they resemble the layers of strata in a geological dig.

Now picture an attendant.

Now picture a female attendant in a Men’s restroom.

One last thing…make her irritable when she does not get a tip.

I appreciate that this is probably not the best job, and that things are rough all over. I have an expectation of a restroom like this. I expect to go in. I expect to have a minimum of interraction with others. I expect to emerge roughly 20 – 40 fluid ounces lighter than when I entered. I do not expect a restroom attendant.

Further, I have a few basic policies regarding tipping restroom attendants. One of those is that the establishment must serve food, and I will further refine that rule by adding that the menu must not give one the option to add cheese (or what they call cheese) to any item for a mere 50 cents.

The decision was made to drive down the road to a Wendy’s IMMEDIATELY.

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