Val Went All the Way to CasinoPalooza 5, and All We Got Were These Crappy Bathroom Stories

WARNING: The following story is offensive and tasteless. But true. Don't be complaining if you read it and are offended. Don't be reading it if you are eating, about to eat, have just eaten, or are thinking about eating.

On the drive home from any CasinoPalooza, Hick and I stop twice. The first is at a rest area on I-44 between Springfield and Lebanon. It's about 90 minutes after we leave the casino. The next stop is in Steelville, about two hours later. Times depending upon Hick's sweaving speed, of course. Gone are the days when we could drive straight through without stopping. If we chucked our blood pressure meds for the day, we might make it, but I don't think that's advisable.

Anyhoo... with my peg-leg left ankle and my overused right knee, I was moving mighty slow on Saturday morning when we started home. So slow that when we reached the rest area, Hick took off like a future derby winner out of the starting gate, and was across the parking lot, at the automatic glass doors, before I closed A-Cad's door for him to lock it with the clicker. I don't know why he wouldn't give ME the clicker when he got out. But he didn't.

I hobbled in like a sprouting sweet potato with toothpick legs. I was surprised that Hick wasn't already out, perusing the soda and snack machines. Maybe there was a line in the men's room. Women were pouring in and out of the other side.

As usual, one side of the women's restroom was blocked by orange cones and yellow caution tape for cleaning. So I had to turn right. Each side has four regular stalls and a handicap stall. I was in luck, because the handicap stall was available, the door hanging open. The regular stalls were all full. Like I said, the rest stop was busy on the Saturday before Father's Day. What unfolded next will be related by quoting the texts I sent The Pony after the fact. I actually called Sis to tell her in person. She kindly put me on speaker phone without my knowledge. So I owe her one...

Anyhoo... here's how I broke the story to The Pony. He started it by daring to text me.

"About a half hour from home. Decided to stop and get Steak N Shake in Midwest City."

"Okay. Just left the rest stop. You'll never believe what was on the floor of the handicap stall..."

"Ladybug?"

"I WISH! The Ex-Mayor guessed a pill. Like my experience last night. But no. It was a TURD! On the floor in front of the toilet."

"I'm not surprised."

"That's not the worst part. It was also smeared on the front of the toilet!"

"Disappointed..."

"But that's not the worst part! I had to use it! The other side of the women's room was closed! I can't get up from a regular toilet without a handrail. I tried to clean it off with toilet paper, but it was dried!"

"...but not surprised."

"And THAT'S not EVEN the worst part! Every woman I passed going in as I was coming out WOULD THINK IT WAS ME, because of how I'm walking!"

"Yikes!"

Yeah. Sis and Ex-Mayor had entirely too much fun laughing at my misfortune. At least The Pony seemed to convey a modicum of sympathy.