It was another guy

I stopped to get gas and took the opportunity to go inside and use the bathroom.
The restrooms were behind the candy racks. The ladies room door was half open with the light off. The men’s room, closed, with a young guy waiting outside shifting foot to foot.

I stood behind him.

The shifting, once occasional, turned constant and rhythmic. I watched him and thought of my go-to “80s white guy” dance.
“Damn it,” he blurted and shook his head. “Come ON already!” He folded and unfolded his arms futilely looking for a comfortable stance.

“Is that the Macarena? I could never do that. I’d always end up slapping somebody, sometimes myself,” I shamefully disclosed.

He looked over his shoulder at me momentarily then back to that door.

Fed up, he went to it and shook the door knob violently.
A deep voice called out, “Yo, it’s still occupied! Give me a break for Christ’s sake!”
(So this couldn’t have been the first door knob event.)

“What the hell?! You’ve been in there forever!” the young guy yelled at the closed door.

“You have to wait!”

My mind quickly assessed the situation: individual “A” in front of me- anger fueled by urine backload; individual “B” in the bathroom way longer than normal – a circumstance that never bodes well for the patron who follows; and individual “C” (me) whose own “check bladder” light came on.

“MAN!” The young guy bellowed.

I tapped his shoulder, “Buddy, go use the ladies room. Nobody else is here. It’s empty.”

He looked at the cashier who was reading a newspaper, then back at me. “Screw it, you’re right.” And off he went.

He was back out in 30 seconds with a satisfied moan, that song of relief that we’ve all sung at one time or another. He threw me a wave with a hand he couldn’t have washed, and left.

As the gas station door closed behind him, the men’s room door swung open.
“You know, you’re a real jerk!” he barked while buckling his belt.

“I’m not the one who shook the door. It was another guy. A dancer, I think. ” I explained.

He looked around the empty store exaggeratedly stretching his neck, then back to me. “Really?”

“Yeah. I swear. He’s gone now.”

“Did you ever think I was in there so long ‘cause I was sick?! Huh?”

“The guy who yelled at you used the ladies room and left two seconds ago. It wasn’t me.”

“Right. Jerk.” He scraped by me knocking the candy bars out of alignment.

“Hold on,” I called out.

He stopped by the chips, “Yeah?!”
The cashier lifted her head. This got her attention.

“You’re sick and you go to the gas station?”

“What?”

“You should’ve gone to a doctor instead. You’d be happier with the results…”

He turned to face me.

“…you couldn’t get jerky or a lotto though. There is that,” I continued, weighing the benefits.

He sized me up and shook his head. He kept shaking it all the way out.

“He’s gonna hurt his neck doing that,” I said to the cashier.
She dropped her head back to the newspaper.

“Excuse me, do you have Febreze here? I can’t go in there unarmed.”

She shook her head without lifting.

“Oh well. Cover me.”
I used the ladies room.