How easy it is to bullshit you in 3.. 2.. We were east bound on US Highway 369.

No we were not. I've never heard of US Highway 369. I got that number from Lil Jon. Don't believe everything you read.

We were west bound on US Highway 218, about 20 miles east of Charlotte, North Carolina, when Miss Deborah, the store clerk at Piedmont Market and the two of us crossed paths.

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Pura had to pee. In case you're just tuning in, a lot of these encounters and experiences begin with Pura had to pee. Had she not stayed true to form, I might've never known what Christmas trees do in October.

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They had Halloween decorations all over the place. Front of the store, back of the store, parking lot, the ceiling and walls; pumpkins, skeletons, witches, pumpkins, goblins, pumpkins—**₿⓪0̴!**

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We'll browse the joint on our way out. First things first—toilet. While she does that, I'll grab a coffee and snap photos just in case Miss Deborah says the funniest shit I heard all day at the checkout counter and I write about it.

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`3.. 2..`

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# Oh hell no. Houston, we have a problem. This is the first place we've seen in a while. No telling when the next toilet is. Now she's at the point of no return. You know, the one where you finally found a toilet and have to pee so bad you already began mentally coaching yourself through the motions; button, zipper, practically feel the relief only to discover the toilet's inoperable. # Mayday! She's crip-walkin like a Thriller video audition. *Maybe it just needs cleaned but still works,* says sincerest DanDays in a failed attempt to alleviate the pressure she's experiencing. *You got this. I'll go find out.* I quickly made my way back to the front of the store, totally prepared to lie my ass off about she's pregnant or not pregnant or whatever Miss Deborah needs to hear to let Pura in that bathroom. I was unaware of Miss Deborah's name at that point, we've yet to introduce ourselves. *Hi.* I said in charismatic, charming, not creepy at all voice. *Is the bathroom out of order like broken or out of order like something else? My wife really,* I really emphasized really, ***reeeaally*** *needs to use it.* We're in North Carolina, "The South," they call it. Not Deep South like Georgia or Louisiana where between their dialect and lazy jaws, when they get to talking, I can't tell if they're welcoming me or warning me. Southern charm nonetheless. Jaws are slightly less lazy here so conversations are easier to follow with fewer "what?" or "would you say that again please?" but they're still lazy; *ya'all* is you all and *fixin'to* means I'll get to it when I get to it. > Awe hun, that sign ain't fer ya'all it's fer summon else. Ya'all go right ahead n handle yer business mmkay. I took off to relay the good news. While she does that, I poured her a coffee, now we each have one—not as obvious we only stopped for the bathroom. Snapped a few more, time to check out.

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"Thank you so much, I had to pee so bad my eyeballs were floating" Pura says to Miss Deborah whom we're about to find out is Debbie. > No problem sweetie. Where ya'all from? How'd ya find us? I'm Debbie, call me Miss Deborah. *Pleasure to be met. I'm Arts, this is my wife, Pura. West of here.* That's how I answer that question in The South or up and down the east coast of the US, "where are you from?" *West of here.* They hate Californians. Might as well be Russian in Europe. My blanket response is 'west of here' to avoid a death stare followed by a hand gesture pointing to the door. Miss Deborah wouldn't do that, I don't think. She's a Southern Belle. At least I'm pretty sure she wouldn't. > I juss put'at sign on der before ya'all come in. Ya'see I gotsa lady, erry Tuesdee she comes in her and it's right around'is time, too, I'm surprised ya'all ain't seen'er, and juss does sump'm God awful to my torilette. She said 'torilette.' Never heard someone say toilette with an R like that. Wash and washer I've heard called warsh and warsher but torilette's a new one. I laughed. Can't help it, I laughed out loud. Now I need to know more. *Every week, really? What, just comes here and blows up the bathroom?* > Oh, hardly hunny. Try fux'up errthing mmkay. Lass week I had to call a plumber out here ya'all, I ain't foolin. I don't know what the hell she done-did to my torilette but I plunged'n plunged'n it dint budge! Miss Deborah's motioning her arms up and down to show us how, to no avail, she forcefully plunged the toilet like a paramedic pumps a chest during CPR. I laughed louder out loud. Pura's nudging my arm like maybe I should show more concern and less humor but I can't help it. This lady's hilarious. I don't want the show to end. *That bad huh?* > That bad'n the sink too! She clogged the whole drain up with paper n leff the faucet on so the sink's o'erflowin, the torilettes o'erflowin, I ain't kiddin ya'all, it was a river in'air mmkay. But whhyyyy the sink?? Why? Is she warshin'er ass in my sink?! I can hardly control myself—hunched over at the waist, holding myself up against the counter, laughing my ass off watching Miss Deborah put on a helluva performance acting like a psyche ward escapee bouncing off the walls in the bathroom, showering in the sink and washing the floor in toilet water. Pura broke her silence. Now we're both laughing uncontrollably. > I ain't kiddin ya'all, that's why I gots'at sign up'air. I try to be nice n neighborly n I don't mind cleanin torilettes mmkay, I mean if ya gotsta go, ya gotsta go! But she ain'ever usin my torilette again ya'all and Ima tell'er why too bless'er heart. I thanked her for the free entertainment. Told her I'm glad we stopped. Paid for the coffee's, *keep the change,* out the door we went. She told us stop by any time we pass through, said tell all our friends about her market and how she has the best deals on eggs in three states. > They drivin all the way from Wilmington n Lexington fer my eggs ya'all I ain't kiddin. A dozen of'em at the Walmart er $7 and thems double A. We don't mess wit no double A eggs mmkay, all my eggs is jumbo and I sell'em by the case. 60 eggs fer 30 bucks. Ain't a Walmart nowhere gonna beat my eggs. *Will do, Miss Deborah. I'm glad we met.* > Ya'all come back now ya'her!

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