on the highway to North Carolina
June 2015
It’s a seven-hour drive. I stop at what we used to call a comfort station. Now they are service plazas. Anyway, y’know, I have to pee. In many places, when you pull off the interstate onto a two-lane back road, you have suddenly gone back in time. I drive into the parking lot of one such filling station. Here is an ancient air hose, there is a metal sign for motor oil. I find the rest room: outside access, don’t need a key.
On the wall in the men’s room is another throwback: a condom dispenser. In the days when we relied on these machines for our safe sex purchases, before condoms were on the drug store shelves, we called them rubbers, raincoats or if we were feeling scientific or upper crusty, prophylactics.
The machines on the wall are emblazoned with lewd pictures of nearly naked, impossibly voluptuous women, all clearly eager. Who reads in a time like this, but the names of the products contained within were also listed, each letter of the name a different, bright color. The Hot Spot, Vibra-ribbed, Rugged n Ready, Horny Goat Weed — anyone who would buy this one probably doesn’t need it — Extenders (Try All Six in Rotation,) Wet ’N Wild and the Tingler Ring. Put your three quarters stacked together into the slot, push on the coin tray and this could be the prelude to a great evening.
Please wash your hands as you leave the men’s room.