Today was a music festival (one down--two to go). I had to travel about an hour to reach it and I left a little before seven o'clock this morning. Following the festival I searched for a ladies room, found it full of young ladies between the ages of 14 and 18 and opted to stop at a rest area rather than brave the sea of incessantly talking feminine teens.
So I did.
I stopped at the rest area, locked my car, and began to walk inside. I found myself accompanied by a man who looked as though he'd been living at the rest area for a few days. He was very happy I stopped. Apparently, I'm great company for homeless men.
I indicated my need to go to the restroom. He continued chatting and escorted me to the door--and proceeded to follow me inside. I saw him enter, turned around, brushed past him and headed back to my car. I ran to it, got inside and locked the doors just in time to see him exit the ladies room, look at the door, point at the sign and begin to laugh.
I drove to the first McDonald's I could find and relieved myself there.
Then I threw up.
Clearly I am still haunted by being molested in the restroom. It happened a million years ago. It didn't happen today. Probably the very friendly man didn't even plan to harm me.
Still, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified.
And I've made a new rule: Scary, homeless-looking men, regardless of friendliness, should not follow me into the bathroom. Ever.
I know that's a lot to ask, but I think it's reasonable to want people--all people--to not be creepy scary.