Written by Mark Thompson

[Boggs sizes Andy up]
Boggs: Hey, anybody come at you yet? Anybody get to you yet?
[Andy looks at him in puzzlement]
Boggs: Hey, we all need friends in here. I could be a friend to you.
[Andy walks away]
Boggs: Hey… Hard to get. I like that…

In the fall of 2007, I’m driving to the Quad Cities Half Marathon, dark, pre-dawn, and I stopped at the rest area along I-80, mm 270. (I give the location as a warning, not an invitation). I noticed an oversized cargo van parked near the doors, backed in. I walked past the automatic doors, into the mens’ room and into a stall, sat down and saw the words “BJ NOW” penciled into the wall. I laughed a bit, thinking, “Now?” I mean, how old could that be? And when “now” passes, what motivation would the author have to erase it? It’s got to be ancient. It can’t be a contemporaneous now.

It’s like reading a beer label that says “freshly brewed” in a Mormon supermarket.

I thought about the Dumb and Dumber scene, when one of the guys ends up in a stall at the same time as penned on the wall, he gets up and gets into a fight to protect himself. Funny.

I looked a bit closer around the stall. Aside from the BJ NOW, the walls were spotless, I could smell the ammonia. And the writing was in pencil, on a smooth surface, easy to remove. About this time I became anxious.

I saw a guy through the crack by the door, he was washing his hands, and slowly drying them with the blower. I realized that aside from the two of us, there was nobody else in the joint.

He left.

Seconds passed and I heard the dryer kick on and the guy was back. Same dude, same black shoes and tan sweatshirt. Um, still could have been a coincidence.

I hurried up. This guy must have had nothing else to do, because he certainly took his time. I could not see his face, but I could tell his body was angled back, looking at my stall door.

I thought about Senator Larry Craig and his incident in the Minneapolis airport. He pleaded guilty to
disorderly conduct for attempting to engage in lewd acts in the public restroom. He used some sort of secret code in an attempt elicit the acts.

A tap of the foot is code to alert the other person you are “interested.” After the tap is received, the recipient must wave his hand underneath the stall. At this point, the two men somehow engage in some sort of lewd behavior. “Glory holes” may or may not be involved.

When accused of using these codes, the Senator claimed that he has a “wide stance” and that may have confused the undercover agent.

I kept my “stance” narrow and did not tap my feet. What other signals could there be? I did not drop anything, I did not make a sound. The guy left, again.

Now, what about the huge van parked by the door? How many guys were waiting in there to kidnap me? Would anybody see me dragged from the stall and into this van before it disappeared onto the interstate?

The parking spots are angled. Why was the van backed in?

My dad has told me tales of the dangers of traveling alone. I chalked these stories up to old man worldly fear.

He talked about driving across the U.S. when he was 19, heading down to San Diego, driving back across the desert. Along the highway, some guy pulled alongside my young father and made an indication that he wanted my dad to pull over. My dad, confused, why is this guy talking to me? Then the other driver made the universal jerk-off sign, and my dad got scared. He’s heard of “these kind of people.” Young Dad thought fast. He pulled out his hunting knife and flashed it against the window, speeding off.

The pervert did not pursue.

I laugh every time, thinking of my calm, conservative dad flashing a blade in a situation that probably required nothing more than ignoring the fellow.

And from this story (1960’s) my dad concluded that it’s dangerous for a 29 year old male to travel alone in 2007.

But for the first time, I’m thinking my dad is right about travel. For the first time, I’m wishing I had a hunting knife while sitting in a bathroom stall.

I finished up, and planned my escape. Where could the attacker be?

Then the dryer kicks on again. Black shoes, tan sweatshirt. I am convinced that he is looking for
something. This is three times that he’s “dried his hands,” amidst zero flushes. And how long has he been waiting? Is he getting angry and frustrated? Is he going to take his BJ by force?

Instantly, The Shawshank Redemption pops into my head.

“Boggs: Now, I’m gonna open my fly and you’re gonna swallow what I give ya to swallow. And after you swallow mine you’re gonna swallow Rooster’s cause ya done broke his nose and I think he oughta have something to show for it. ”

I didn’t want to swallow anything.

Not Boggs’, not Rooster’s, and not whatever this guy was after.

No BJ NOW.

He was mounting an assault. In the stall, I am trapped. In the open, I can escape.

Wide-eyed, I peered from behind the stall door crack, and leaned back a bit so I could confirm if this man was after me.

To my shock, our eyes met. His were filled with felonious lust, mine were filled with fear.

The man ducked away, outside of my limited view.

The dryer kicked off.

Silence.

I got up and slid the lock, exited the stall and jumped as I saw the man standing directly to my left. He walked to the back exit of the restroom, staring right at me. Just us two. He continued to stare as he reached his arm toward the door. He pushed it open and slowly left, still looking at me.

Panicked, I sprinted to the other door, fearing that he was going to cut me off with his bandit crew. He’s playing with his prey before the strike. That’s part of the fun for him.

I flew to the front doors, waited the longest second as they automatically opened, and I ran past the van to my car. I cursed the keyless remote as I rapidly pushed the button, car not unlocking until I was close enough to use the regular key. I jumped into the driver’s seat, locked the doors, started the engine and sped off into the dark.

As I accelerated, I checked the backseat for stowaway rapists. (None).

I have no doubt that this guy was after a BJ. Now, was he going to take it by force? Probably not. But that was not a chance I was willing to take.

And, as for the race, worst of the year.