On my own, I wouldn’t have stopped; it was a run-down, over-used gas station built say, forty years ago. The smeared windows of the office cum convenience store were plastered with crude posters of past events, beer and cigarette specials.
At arm’s height on the door, a sign said, Restrooms for customers only. Right below it, If you’re not a customer, Sorry! Since I fell into the customer category, I walked straight to where I believed the restroom would be and found a single door with a unisex symbol.
The room was a grimy rectangle with painted concrete block walls and a spattered concrete floor. Trash spilled on the floor in the corner and a film of dirt covered the top of the sink and the toilet. Stuck on the wall opposite the mirror was a sign, No eating, drinking or smoking in here.
Doncha just love the chutzpah behind putting up a sign that warns event planners to choose another place.