Well MDRF,
Padre and I are now in WY.
We decided to switch off driving each tank of gas. With a loaded trailer, and these headwinds,
that means we each get to drive about 100 miles. That sounds terrible, but honestly it has
actually made the time go by really quickly.
Padre is currently taking a shift and instead of sleeping I
decided to write (I’ll of course post this later, after all, we are driving,
and I don’t have internet access, and we are literally in the middle of
nowhere.) because we’ve had two experiences that gave me pause.
To begin with, I love encountering new cultures with their
own traditions. For example, in most of
western society it is customary to have gender specific facilities for
potty. We like our dude-stuff not
getting in the way of our chick-stuff.
It came as a bit of a shock when the first gas station we stopped at
only had one restroom.
“Not big deal,” I thought to myself, “I’ve used unisex
facilities before.” My thoughts did not
stop there.
“Odd, the door doesn’t close.”
“Oh, goodness, look at that.
It is a unisex community bathroom.”
“Also, not a big deal, I mean, as long as there are dividers.”
“What? There aren’t
any dividers? Even at the urinals?”
“Yes Urinals plural, and they were right next to the sinks.”
“Well, both of the stalls are occupied, so I guess we use
the public urinal.”
“This isn’t a big deal, I mean people all over the world
urinate in public…granted they are usually drunk, or homeless, but no matter,
as long as no one else decides to walk in.”
“What am I hearing?”
“Wait, is that man singing jubilations about an effective
bowel movement? Well I guess it is the
small victories in life.”
That MDRF, was quite a unique experience. It wasn’t so much awkward as it was
confusing. It is as if the designer of
the aforementioned potty thought to himself, “Privacy is an odd notion. In neighborhood we always used the same
bathroom, at the same time, regardless of what company we had over.
It almost reminds me of a particular Monty Python skit.
Long story short, bathroom break successful, though the most
entertaining thing was watching multiple people enter the restroom with their
thoughts as clearly portrayed on their faces, as my thoughts were on my face.
The drive was joyously uneventful. We didn’t encounter any cops, which I was
assured would be a possibility because human trafficking in a uhaul is all the
rage; and we eventually made it to WY.
Upon entering WY we decided to get gas. A man driving an oversized truck pulled up to
the pump next to us. He made eye contact
with me, smiled, and got out of his car.
“Goodness, Wyomingans are a friendly bunch,” I mused.
He approached me and Padre, and said, “I was wondering if
you guys would like a bunny. I just
don’t have time to take care of it anymore, and I really want to give it a nice
home.”
I realized he was indeed holding a rabbit. My hopeful epiphany about the friendly state
of WY was quickly soured into something that made me vehemently wish I was
carrying a gun for protection.
“No thank you,” I said, pointing to my trailer, “I don’t
have time for a rabbit.”
He kept trying to talk about how the rabbit just needed a
good home, and I kept politely declining; though my politeness was turning to
silent rage at the audacity it required to accost someone at a gas station, car
hooked up to a pump, and try to hawk your unwanted pets.
The young man got back into his car and drove off. He didn’t buy gas. He didn’t try and ask other individuals if
they would like a bunny—which seems stupid because I’m sure there was some
lonely divorcee at a different pump, desperately thinking of a way to build a
connection with his estranged children, while simultaneously sticking it to his
spouse, and her new husband Criss (not Chris, as he regularly likes to point
out), or some other hypothetical situation—like a real salesman. No, instead, he simply harangued us for
several minutes, then got back in his vehicle and drove off.
Who does that? It
just seems like such an odd thing to even try.
What is the thought process which precipitates this unique
experience?
I’m sure we’ll never know, and I certainly have no desire to
track down such an unstable youth.
Besides, if you need to get rid of a rabbit I can think of
at least 5 ways to dispose of one, all of them far more humane than inviting a
total stranger at a gas station to adopt it.
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| $5 footlong, and we promise the chicken isn't rabbit. |
