Conversations at a Rest Stop

I'm in the bathroom of a rest stop taking my place at one of the urinals in the middle of the row. A tall burly man of about 20 years has the brim of his worn cap facing the wrong direction. He's assumed the position about four or five stalls to my right. On my left is a leather-clad middle-aged man, whose head reaches only the young man's chin, takes his place two stalls away from me on my left. The frat boy hollers to the side, "Were you the guy on the motorcycle out there?"

The older man answers, "Yes."
"Ya know, anyone riding a motorcycle on the highway going 50 mph has failed as a person."
A second later, the man in leather's forehead falls. "I'm surprised you stopped texting long enough to notice, buddy."

I sense the inevitable argument that's about to ensue and close up shop early. I suffer the consequences of that decision. I wash my hands and an explicative runs out of my mouth as I look down and notice the stain of that fateful decision in the mirror.

I leave the bathroom and pass by the TravelMart. There, a man is asking for directions to Germantown. It started innocently enough. Then like magnets to metal, men gravitate over to the conversation and begin adding their two cents. Soon, ten men are talking over each other discussing congestion, back roads, and every possible scenario. I think about helping too. I know the fastest route to Germantown, the easiest one, and all of the traffic patterns, but, instead, I just give a little chuckle as I pass by the scene. I figure that inserting my opinion will just add to the confusion.

I head left to wait in the line at Burger King. In front of me, a young woman wearing a tight University of Maryland t-shirt, comments to her friend, "I wanted Taco Bell, but when I got there, I saw a sign in the window, 'Not safe to occupy.' Not safe to occupy? When is Taco Bell ever safe to occupy? That's not a reason to shut down the place!"

I consider laughing. Normally I would, but my mind is elsewhere. Words have wandered into my ears from behind. "That's why we need to build a wall. To keep them out." I soon realize that I should probably challenge that insidious comment. I turn slightly and unveil a dirty look, but I still can't catch the perpetrator of the remarks with the corner of my eye. The moment passes.

We are herded like cattle through the line. I pick up my over-priced cheeseburger that has been sitting there as long as immigrants have been coming to this country. I pay the cashier with money and a forced smile. I sit and stare at the burger as I mull over each bite. Occasionally my eyes search the premises to see if they recognize anyone from the previous incidents and quickly dart down when someone else's approach.

After I finish, I walk out towards my car, ready to get back on the road. A man approaches me and begins, "Excuse me, sir. I'm trying to get to Germantown. Do you know how to get there?" I fight to stifle a smirk.