Out of Order
On the way from San Diego from Las Vegas, we passed lots of motorcycles. Groups of five to eight riders were making their way from California to Vegas. We stopped for gas in Barstow. While Mike gassed up the Beetle, I ran to the bathrooms located outside the store. There was a big sign on the men’s bathroom, “Out of Order.” The women’s bathroom was occupied.
I danced my little “I should have stopped in Victorville” dance while I waited for the women’s bathroom. When the door finally opened a burly biker walked out. He blushed a bright shade of red and jerked his head toward the sign on the men’s bathroom. He bashfully walked away and let me use the bathroom.
He left the toilet seat up.