They tell us something about their owners

At 72, a public convenience is now a private necessity. Even when a water closet wasn’t needed every hour, I recall being fascinated by the markings outside and the wall hangings inside.

For example, when I was 24, and after a few beers, I followed the bar restroom arrows to a dark corridor, with two doors. One had a picture of a gun; the other a holster. I stood between the two doors, puzzled. A guy brushed by me and with no hesitation pushed through, well, you guess which door.

A couple of days ago Rebecca and I were driving country roads in southern Iowa and northern Missouri. The day before she had ridden her bike on these roads and had stopped in Rick’s Country Shoppe to use the bathroom. With no money, Rebecca thanked the counter person and said she’d return another day to buy something.

That’s one reason we were at Rick’s. After filling our gas tank, I used the bathroom and took some pictures of the wall hangings. Yesterday I read Robin Christine Honigsberg’s fine essay on the memorable art around us. And I thought, bathroom pictures can also be memorable.

The other reason we returned to Ricks is the sign pictured below. Rebecca told me it lessened her guilt about not being able to buy something.

How often I have slinked out of places with a Benjo, without buying something. Or, on a few occasions, had someone hurtle “toilets only for customers.”

The sign’s owner offered more than a guilt-free privy. She gently reminded us of a currency always available.

Rick’s Country Store now joins the gun and holster bar in my loo memories.

Kindness is found in the strangest places. And is always contagious.