I am almost afraid to tell this true story.
I was in my twenties and my wife and I decided to travel the country with our two children. We were gone about two weeks traveling in my 1974 red Volkswagen Beetle. No air conditioning and we sweat bullits the whole trip. We made a retangular trip of Nashville to Oklahoma to Dallas to New Orleans, to Birmingham, to Ft. Launderdale and to home. The temperature was about 106 degrees, somewhere in Arkansas. We had a “pump-a-drink” gallon jug that kept pumping iced tea to us. That was a trip to remember.
We all were having fun, in spite of the heat, until my wife decided that everyone should have a laxative. One Correctol to each child and two Correctol for me. She slipped us a mickey drink the night before and we never knew it…....well, until it hit us on the interstate, somewhere in Louisiana. Desperation is not a good enough word for the griping in our stomachs. I finally reached an interstate exit, at above the posted speed limit. We traveled forever on the exit road, until we reached a small unknown town. This was on a Sunday morning and everything was closed. I spotted a gas station that was abandoned and pulled in. My son ran out of the car at a full speed ahead. I was right behind him. As he entered the mens restroom door, I grabbed his shirt and pulled him back. “Adults, first”, I stated. He was hurting so bad that he just cried.
My wife laughed all the way back home. I still owe her one for that little trick!!