Pretentious Poop

Main Street, Southampton

Where do you go to blow it up in civilized Southampton? You don't. You go home.  

What if you can't make it home? You look around at these uber civilized people in their uber expensive restaurants and know that crapping your pants in the privacy of your car is seriously on the table. But what if its not my car I'm driving?

There, there, THERE!! That's a Rite Aid! They know about common issues of the middle class (the Upper Class don't poop). Sure enough they had a bathroom.

Where do you go to blow it up in civilized Southampton?

You don't.

You go home.  

Bursting into the store and B-lining it straight for the bathroom, I think I knocked down one of the Kardashians, but it didn't matter; I was on a mission. Half delirious in a mincing run toward the back, I arrived into the men's room with a discounted sippy cup somehow lodged under my arm and a pair of socks attached to a hanger on my hip.

When I came out of the hallway leading away from the bathrooms, Curly, Moe, and Larry behind the counter (they're always the same nationwide), were clutching their pearls, chest and face, respectively.

It's okay. It's Rite Aid.