I Peed Behind a Wall at a Gas Station and Now We Have Covid
This is an actual photo of the guy who blocked the restroom…
I didn’t want to travel for the holidays.
Not only was my introverted self completely terrified of seeing family (or anyone really), but recent news of the Omicron surge had burrowed deep beneath my skin and spiked my anxiety.
Yes, all of us are vaccinated…and yes, myself and one of my children are boosted…but was it worth it?
Turns out NO.
We drove to Sacramento on a rainy Thursday. When I say rain, I mean the kind you can’t see through while you are barreling down the I5 at 70 miles an hour. I had to pull off twice to keep myself from having some sort of driving-blind panic attack.
Eventually we arrived, checked into our cute little Hyatt Place motel, and drove to my brother in law’s house for dinner.
“The little dude has a runny nose and a cough but no fever,” was the first thing my husband said to me as we walked up the driveway.
I must have looked at him like I was trying to shoot lasers out my eyes because he quickly followed with, “And we did a rapid Covid test and it was negative.”
I exhaled about 50% and went inside for a glass of alcohol.
That night and Christmas Eve seemed to move along fine, with several of us holed up in the pouring rain sipping whiskey cider and watching movies. It was actually a delightful day, and for a few hours I thought to myself, “Wow, MK, you really need to stop worrying so much.”
Then, during the night, both my children came down with a nasty stomach flu. Luckily their room was only a few doors down the hall, so I popped back and forth in my Christmas pajamas (with a mask on) like some sort of Vitamin Water and Zofran Santa Claus.
Needless to say, I spend Christmas day in my hotel room, alone, eating lobby toast and caring for vomiting teenagers. On the upside there was both a Forensic Files and SVU marathon, and I finished this season of La Casa de Papel on my computer (sniff sniff, tears for another post).
It was weird, but I was strangely Zen with it all.
The next day was a wash of everyone feeling exhausted and terrible, then we made a quick appearance to say goodbye to everyone before heading out the following morning to return to LA…
…in the pouring rain. Yes, again.
The kids and I laughed about the insanity of driving to Sacramento to spend Christmas vomiting in a motel, and enjoyed the constant screaming of my youngest’s new Tamagotchi, Haven.
About an hour outside LA the rain was intense, and a thick layer of fog had descended upon Magic Mountain. If you have ever driven from northern to southern Cali, you know exactly where everything slows down for no reason…you come down the hill, see Magic Mountain, enter the parking lot that was once a freeway.
Unfortunately I had been trying to hold my pee until we got home, but as we slowed to 5mph in the pea soup fog, I turned to Waze. Like a good friend, she took us on a back road and we zipped along the side of the freeway half worried we were breaking some sort of fire truck law.
Then, in the distance, was a perfectly placed Chevron station. Win! I could pop in for a quick pee without missing a beat.
I threw my mask on and ran inside to find a very grumpy man putting a little plastic wall across the entrance to the bathrooms.
“Are they being cleaned?” I asked.
“No,” he answered and stared at me blankly.
“Can I,” I began.
“No,” he cut me off.
“How long will they be closed?” I asked, trying to indicate I may pee on his linoleum if he didn’t stop with the chatting and let me through.
“Maybe an hour, hard to say.” He smirked and walked away.
Ok, buddy, you asked for it.
I walked out the front door into the rain and yelled at my oldest to come follow me as I walked to the side of the building by the closed car wash where there was a very dodgy looking wall with some graffiti that appeared to say “butthole.” Appropriate.
“Mom, what are you,” she began.
“Cover me,” I said.
“What?” she looked absolutely horrified.
Just then a little van pulled into the spot near where we were standing and a very pleasing man yelled from the window, “I’m gonna do it too when you are done!” He gave me a wink and a thumbs up and I nodded in appreciation.
I went behind the wall, squatted, and peed by a pile of very concerning clothing.
No time for true crime right now, gotta get back on the road.
I came out from behind the wall and the man in the van said, “That’s what they get for closing the bathroom!” and I wondered if he should be my new best friend.
Again, there was no time for this.
I coated my hands in sanitizer and we were off into the haze. Hurray!
The next morning my oldest woke up with a high fever, sore throat, and felt generally awful. We had her take two at-home Covid tests and they were both positive. Crap.
For the next week the three of us had moments of feeling exhausted and yucky mixed with phases of “Oh, I’m feeling better!” followed by, “Ugh, my throat hurts again.”
Was it the wall? Unlikely, but we can’t rule it out.
Sadly we only had the two tests so we called my nurse practitioner friend who said, “You all have Covid” so I ordered Instacart and didn’t leave the house.
We watched Tick Tick Boom and I love Andrew Garfield so much I could (and would) kiss him.
Then we spent an east coast New Year’s Eve on the couch with Miley and Pete eating Greek food and were in bed before 11.
Yesterday I finally ventured out into the world, a full week later, to get a proper PCR test. Cases are rising, I spent a week inside with a Covid-positive kid, and I still don’t feel awesome…but it will probably be negative. Right?
So I wait, fingers crossed, hoping for a negative test because I really want to go to Cryozone tomorrow.
Was it the drippy nosed kid, the outdoor urination, or the MAGA looking dude at the motel who rolled his eyes at my mask in the elevator? Hard to say.
I mean, I hate to say I told you so, and my husband will explode into a million furious little pieces if I do but …
I knew traveling for Christmas was a bad idea.
Yep, I’m a dick, but at least I own it.