There were about five things wrong with this gas station. First off, the gender neutral bathroom was mysteriously located outside of the convenience store and required a dinky ol’ rustic key, unlike the two gendered restrooms located inside next to a sit-down theater, of all things. After eyeing a line of shifty-eyed, scraggly dudes who clearly looked anti-mutant, what with their gruff cheekbones and guarded expressions, Rod decided he’d rather wait for outdoor bathroom. There were only two people -- this would be quick. God, was he wrong. Very, very wrong. It’d been thirty minutes and nothing had budged. Not only was he sure the first person who walked out had done her laundry in there, with the way she’d dropped a sock and something else, but now some average white dude -- 5′7″ ye high with some Greek letters on his tank -- was occupying it and... doing business. Other business.
Sure, the RV’s bathroom was likely open. But he’d bolted out the moment the RV parked to get gas just to use the bathroom, and the thought of going back inside to use the toilet made his anxiety flare. Instead, he sifted uneasily before the gender neutral bathroom. When he spotted someone from the RV, he bit his lip, trying to remain calm. “Did you see. They’re selling hotdogs. Buy one and get a free large... lemonade.” Not what he should have led into. He bit his lower lip, inhaling deeply.
