2 Pay Toilets are a Pushover

Traveling in a foreign land I have come to expect a problem every now and then. What I didn’t expect on our Croatia trip was that my first challenge would come long before boarding our plane.

I had a Starbucks “tall” in my bladder dying to be recycled so I dashed into the Vons market near Santa Clarita. Quickly scanning the large signs against the back walls I read, Deli, Bakery, Produce, Dairy … nothing spelled relief. Ah, there to the left the familiar girl in skirt, boy in pants icon. As I reached out to push the door I was blocked by a coin operated handle. What? Pay toilets in America? I started to get peed … literally. With legs tightly crossed dancing on my tip-toes like a hyper boy without his Ritalin, I dug deep into my left pocket hoping to retrieve the magic coin that would unlock this evil barrier denying my happiness. Just then, Petey passed me toward her designated comfort zone. She, much more observant than I, read the sign posted on the door, “no coin needed.” She pushed the door and entered her space. I took her lead … when it doubt, push … ahhhh.