Public facilities are limited for the throngs of musical enthusiast converging on Turkey Texas for Bob Wills groupies each Spring … Port-A-Johns hosted long lines for impatient patrons.. often continuing their dance moves near the door..
Once secured behind the thumb latched barrier , secrets of blue-water observations become real…. in an instant !
As I held my breath … opting for the urinal riveted to the left-hand wall rather than the repulsive mountain of culinary remnants deposited strategically within the open pit .. I began the ritual of operating the nostalgic purchased 501 Levi’s.. button fly jeans.. disregarding the precarious position of my Flip-Phone hanging directly over the Black HOLE..
As the band played George Strait in the background , my prized flipper fell Straight down into impending darkness… not even a glancing blow against the halo as it fell..
There it sat amidst a mountain of discarded Charmin …. looking back at me… like a cherry on a Dairy Queen Sundae …
Seconds past as I evaluated my decision .. whether to bid it farewell , or sacrifice pride and cautious second thoughts for sake of my floundering friend..
Thoughts of a decade of loyal service overcame common sense… I had to save my intermittent contact with civilization despite my reluctance to go where few men ever go…. down in the dungeon … where Lucifer lives..
I used $5 worth of paper cleaning my $3 dollar flipper , drying my hands , and returning her to her rightful position on my hip.
Stepping out the door to greet the waiting patrons , as though there is no There there.. smiling to myself as the proud Life Guard who had just payed the ultimate price for two-bars of Social Media… It still works…