i'd been on the road for about 4 hours - it's a road i drive a few times a year, and this time of year it's bare and bleak and it never ceases to amaze me what people driving on a rural route can manage to hit with their cars . . . a red tail hawk, tail feathers fanned out over his downy chest smashed into the yellow line just outside the town limits of McBee.
i parked under the golden arches in Camden about three in the afternoon and rubbed my eyes. The parking lot was full of kids . . . chocolate shakes and silver Ugg boots and pony tails. i was greeted by a tiny wide old woman in her fast food uniform in the ladies room. She was propped against the corner of one of the stalls and she was gyrating back and forth and up and down, "Oh my back is itchin' somethin' terrible." i smiled at her, and said, "Well, when you got an itch, you gotta scratch!"
"Yes you do honey, yes, you do . . . " She continued to rub her back on the lavatory wall as i latched the door and sat down to pee, then she explained to me, "At home, now at home, I got one of those sticks, a real long one with the little hand with the little fingers on the end and I stick that down my sweater and scratch all I want, but here? I can't use my scratchin' stick."
"No m'am, I guess you can't."
"Oooh that feels so good!"
The whole ladies room was rattling to the rhythm of this old woman scratching her back. Another lady walked in while i was washing my hands, "Do you know how many salads we have to make before we leave?"
and the Scratching Lady replied, "No, no I don't know, they sent me in here to mop the floors."
"Well, come back in the kitchen and help me make salads."
"I'll be there in a minute, I gotta scratch my back."
The Salad Lady left, I dried my hands and bid good-bye to the Scratching Lady, "Bye now honey, you be sweet . . . "