Been
getting used to a new neighborhood in recent months. Part of that
has involved getting directions from a few folks that I’m not
used to receiving directions from. It’s been a learning experience.
Out
on the road several weeks ago, I asked a friend whether I needed
to turn up ahead. Her response?
“Head
north.”
North?
North?
What?
North?
I
had asked a question with three acceptable responses. Right, left,
or continue straight. Not one of them nor anything along the road—and
she agrees with this, because I deliberately and specifically
asked her—had any visible labels that said north.
As
we discussed it, her defense was that I should know the direction
I’m moving. Saving you the back and forth, I’ll say that I earned
a very reluctantly begrudgingly awarded victory in the argument
by asking her what direction she preferred driving on the designated
north and south of Interstate 95 in Connecticut. (Which despite
being labeled as north and south to remain consistent with the
full run along the coast of the United States, actually runs east
and west for arguably the entirety of its roughly 112 miles in
the state.)
Now,
I said I won the debate from her in “reluctantly begrudgingly”
fashion. It remained such a victory until about two weeks ago,
on a recent trip. A trip where we were trying to head south, using
a road that had us moving along its south-bound lanes, and the
setting sun was spending a ridiculous amount of time directly
in front of us. And, when it wasn’t in front of us, it was joyfully
swaying equally off to the right and off to the left of the road.
Now,
obviously, the culprit of an explanation in this story is the
curving of the highway. Slight bend here. Slight bend there. The
setting sun completes a run from the window on one side across
the windshield to position itself in the window on the opposite
side, though you are still officially driving the road headed
south.
Despite
the title, however, I’m not here to discuss when west becomes
east with you.
I’m
here to discuss oddities of the road.
And
I’m here to discuss it because of the paper towels in restrooms.
(Sort
of.)
Road
trip. Pulled into a rest area, with the intention of using the
facilities and maybe getting a coffee or snack for myself and
the others in the car. In the restroom, there were no paper towels,
just air dryers. All around the dryers, things were a wet mess.
And that wet mess part should be capitalized and italicized, and
probably bold the font as well. (You could have gone puddle stomping
near the air dryer. (And while I love the occasional runabout
outside to puddle stomp, I would not advise it in these conditions
at all.))
As
I made my way into the main area of the rest stop, gazing around
for napkin dispensers, it occurred to me that I was essentially
going to use the paper towels that had been removed from the restroom.
Not literally. But substitute paper napkins to dry hands for paper
towels to dry hands and we arrive in a similar position.
What
set me over the top was a urinal in the row of urinals.
It
had been running.
A
constant state of the flushing process. Was running before I walked
in. Was running after I walked out. Efficiently wasting water.
It’s
odd to me that the same groups that think they’re saving money
by not stocking paper towels would find themselves (or other rest
area occupants) losing it on paper napkins used as an alternative.
The air dryer to be kind to the environment is a useless disarray,
just a few feet from the urinal that is decidedly unkind to the
environment.
We
had been driving all night as we left the rest area. I had some
time with my thoughts, trying to make sense out of something far
from common, as the sun rose off to the west.