You've made it to a rest area, now what do you do?

As I learned this weekend, some folks have very unusual answers to this question. And that's the tricky thing about an open ended question like that, you NEVER know what you're going to get. I wish I still didn't know. ::shiver:: Anyhow, here are two answers that I got, one slightly annoying and the other slightly awkward. I'll let you figure out which is which. Answer #1 (courtesy of NJ Turnpike, NJ, USA): Stand in the doorway of the ladies restroom and completely block entry by any other patrons while juggling two kids and giving the appearance that you are waiting in line when you indeed are not but are merely being selfish with floorspace. To put it lightly, I was infuriated. Most of this had to do with the fact that my bladder was in the danger zone after a gigantic water four hours of work, but the rest of it was this woman's blatant disregard for common courtesy. The worst part about the whole thing is that I was trying to be EXTRA courteous and not seem all impatient by sticking my head in the door to see if there really were any available stalls; I was content to wait my turn. I'm not saying I'm Miss Manners or anything, but I thought I was doing my part at making the world a more courteous place. Then this happens. Seriously lady, you know that 99% of people walking through this door are here to use the facilities. What voice in your head is telling you that it's ok to stand in the middle of the sink area and block the path to liquid build-up relief? (The voice in my head was pretty upset at this point) Now, you may be wondering exactly how I determined that there was no line. This is the the most irritating part of the story. I realized the truth of the situation when some other lady swooped in around me in line to look for an open stall and disappeared into the abyss, leading me to realize that I'd been standing there like an idiot waiting for an open stall that was already open. Gah. I believe that by now, we humans should be so used to waiting that we can recognize when those accidental lines start forming, like when you're really not waiting but rather, striking a pose in front of the counter/trying to figure out what to order at McDonald's or Starbucks or some place like that. Apparently this skill has not been passed along in every family. Fortunately, I was resolved the situation just in time to avoid any further embarrassment, but not without a few grumbles and some angry soda indulgence following the episode. Ok, deep breath and on we go. Answer #2 (courtesy of Interstate 64 East, VA, USA): Hike your skirt to it's full extent and expose appropriately named "granny panties" to restroom full of mothers, children and unsuspecting young adults in order to adjust fallen pantyhose. ::double shiver:: The first thought that went through my head after experiencing this phenomenon? And I quote, "Uuuuummmmm...WHAT??" Here's how it all went down. I'm taking a fairly regular stop along the interstate, making good time getting to my next destination, and I think things are hunky dory. I stroll into the ladies room, do my business and proceed to wait my turn behind a bunch of kids who are making sure that their hands are VERY clean. To my left is the mom, waiting to head out to the car. To my right is a young thirty something assisting a much, much older woman who is sporting a skirt suit and a terry cloth visor. Before I have time to shield my eyes, up goes the skirt! Did I mention all the children present? Now, I know that wearing nylons is a huge pain, especially in the south on an 80 degree day, but I have to admit that I was not really expecting her to resolve the problem in that way. However, one could also make the argument that it was a LADIES RESTROOM and we all have the same parts, just in different stages of disrepair. So, now that I've gotten past the initial shock, I look around the room expecting someone else to notice. Did they? I'm really not sure because NOBODY in that entire restroom reacted. I figured I'd get a giggle out of the kids or maybe a dropped jaw from the mom, but there was nothing. Nothing besides me nearly bursting a blood vessel in my forehead to keep from laughing at feeling so completely uncomfortable. I only hope that I'm that wild and crazy when I'm her age. So there it is, the beginning of my collection of answers to the question "You've made it to a rest area, now what do you do?" I'd venture to say that a multitude of answers abound, but overall this seems like a pretty good way to start.