Jesus Got My Back. And My Butt.

Dropping a friend off downtown late last night, I was dreadfully low on gas and seriously had to pee. A gas station was easy enough to find, and it looked like there was a clean and very welcome bathroom inside the little snack mart. But, as the clerk cheerily informed me, "we just locked the toilet up for the night." 

So my poor bladder, which had been anticipating release, had to quickly zip it all back up. Might I have enough time to go behind a bush outside? Perhaps -- but the thought of a dark corner behind a downtown bush at midnight was quite daunting, and my muscles found an amazing new strength.

I noticed a 24-hour Rite-Aid across the street. Oh please God. Let there be a bathroom. And let it be unlocked and available. Let me not have to find some secret manager who has the key and the power of decision about who is allowed to use their bathroom. Let me not have to waste yet more bladder-bursting time purchasing something unnecessary to prove myself worthy of peeing in a bathroom downtown at midnight.

The door was unlocked, the bathroom was available, and -- I shit you not -- Jesus literally got my butt: