Warning: This column is rated "R." Persons who are uncomfortable with potty talk, or who are embarrassed to consider the reality that all of us eventually have to Go, are advised to turn the page now.

Go on. You know who you are; turn the page. Leave it alone. Get outta here!

. . . We're waiting . . . tum-de-tum . . . hmmmmm.

OK. The blue-noses gone? Just the rest of us here now?

Once several months (maybe even a couple of years) ago I was shopping after work hours at a grocery supermarket which shall remain nameless, in the Piney Woods area. I had been on the road making calls and stopped to make a belated pickup of supplies for the week. Needless to say, I had not gone much further than Fresh Fruits, approaching Canned Goods, when the inevitable became obvious. I glanced around the walls. There was no sign marking the Pause That Refreshes. I lost concentration on the shopping mission, and began looking instead for a store clerk. Finding a "hired hand," I asked whether there was a rest room. Yes, the person said, pointing toward a back corner of the building. Go through the doors, across the stock room, turn left, in the corner . . . It was an expedition through stacks of boxes along poorly lit aisles, with carts and equipment parked randomly. But necessity prevails; I found the place. It was by no means deluxe, but it contained the minimum-required appliances, obviously intended for the use of store help who are not expected to require plush facilities for on-the-job Going. Relieved of physical distraction, I continued shopping.

At the checkout line, a young man, teenager apparently, sacked my purchases and began to help me out the door to load my goods in my vehicle. That chore finished, I asked the young man, "Are you planning to manage your own grocery company one day?" He looked puzzled, and probably considered bolting away, but he was polite enough to respond that he didn't know - it might be a possibility. "Well, then," I said, "you can become rich and famous if you build your stores with a sign visible right up front, `Rest Rooms!' so people can spot it right away when they come in the store. People stop shopping when they have to Go. Remember that." The boy nodded and rushed away, but not before I spotted him roll his eyes and purse his lips in disbelief at the conversation.

Things are getting better in newer stores, where conveniences are usually clearly marked, and baby-changing facilities are even available in the men's rooms. I remain amazed, however, at the lengths to which one must search in most major malls to locate the Facility. It's there, but seldom obvious.

Recently when traveling towards New Orleans via I-49 and I-10, I calculated the regular stops - one being the state rest area just east of the Lafayette interchange on I-10. Anticipating relief, I prepared to pull over, when, alas, a concrete barrier prevented my entry, and a sign in front of the exit read "Rest Area Closed Permanently." Momentarily chagrined, but with some time to spare, I drove on, fortunate to find other options, commercial and public, along the highway. I did wonder if this sent a message to Tourists, who are otherwise officially welcomed profusely to visit our State.

I am also mindful that a human engineering problem to which no meaningful solution has been discovered is on the question of How Many Restrooms are Enough in an arena seating 60,000 or 80,000 persons, who during major-league football games have unlimited access to a range of excitement and beverages, including soft drinks, beer, and hard liquor. To see how far the estimates veer from reality, check the never-ending and barely-moving lines, and the tightly-pinched faces outside the entries to women's rest rooms at the Louisiana Superdome on a New Orleans Saints Sunday.

During mid-October, our loyal and efficient office manager Lenora, native Dodsonian who has been around the block a few times and found her way back home as I have, went with hubby Butch to the East Coast to spend time with her son, a Navy man about to ship from Norfolk for a tour at sea.

Upon her return, Lenora reported that the family excursion included a visit to nearby Washington, DC, to see the national sights. The White House (behind barricades for security against terrorists). The Capitol building. Lincoln Memorial. The Mall. The Mall, that place of public serenity and beauty, where patriotic presentations, demonstrations, and protest marches occur, was laid out in preparation for the Million Family March which was imminent. Of special interest to the toddler grandson in tow was the long procession of Porta-Potties which lined the perimeter of the Mall, one every few feet. Well, I thought. Whom should we credit for this stroke of brilliance? The reality-based, pragmatic tough-love Republicans? Or the environmentally correct, big-government Democrats? Or, perhaps partisanship, which supposedly ends at the water's edge, also ends at the out-house door. If they can agree on anything, it would have to be that Everyone Has to Go, whether the facilities are provided by the Government or Free Enterprise.

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