Chevron / Tetco at 410 and North New Braunfels

What is it about highway gas stations that makes people just... not care?

Next time you're filling up at one, feast your eyes upon how your fellow "man" drops their collective guard for five minutes of "fuggit" time.  You'll see guys covered in fertilizer hopping out of landscaping trucks, going straight for the hot dogs, sausages, and "taquitos" that have been rolling on heated bars for six hours.  You will find people who have been warned by medical professionals to cut back on their sugar intake murmuring 'it's just a leg' while they fill up their 72-ounce, reinforced-handled, mobile reservoir with extra-syrupy fountain Coke and Big Red.  Guys - confident, professional-looking guys - flirting with braless Gas Station Lizards in tank tops, brandishing portrait tattoos of imprisoned exes and that lame, green-inked tattoo they all wear on the back of their hand, right along that curve between their forefinger and thumb.  

It's like Bizarro Vegas in there.  

And maybe that's the reason every highway gas station men's room is such a crapshoot: that careless, mindless, recklessness you know is so omnipresent that there's no way the two ladies running the registers could ever keep men's rooms clean.  It's impossible.

But then there's this Chevron / Tetco at 410 and North New Braunfels that was, well, just about perfect.

Crossing the brink... the freshly mopped brink.

You may see a thick, gray door here, but I saw a freshly wiped entry portal that was superbly maintained, and it rested perfectly flush along the floor that had - not only recently been mopped - but polished as well.  I think, anyway.  Maybe buffed.  Or new.  But, whatever.  It was glossy.  Instead of the typical caution cone telling you to watch your step (what you see on the bottom left), they should hang a sign on it that said, 'Check this out.'

What is this, Japan?  Why's it so cramped in here?

Okay, so it's a little tight in there, which is strange, given the foot traffic this place gets every day.  I guess they just don't want people lingering around in there.  Oh, and a note to all my perfectionist brethren: both the light fixture above the mirror and the Lone Star tiles adorning the walls are a bit skewed.  Don't look at them for too long, or else they'll drive you mad.

What are you LOOking at?

Mounted off the floor, the toilet was sparkling, and the floor around clean of refuse, and collateral damage.  The only problem was the view:

Hey.  How's it goin'?

Yes, a trash can.  The stall was big enough so that you still had your space, but it just felt like the whole time you'd be in there, someone would be watching you.

Aw, man!

Like I said, "just about perfect."  Again: there's no excuse for being out of toilet paper in a public restroom.  No one's going in there, and papier mache-ing a float for the Rose Bowl Parade.  Inexcusable.  Moving right along...

Every bathroom's most important piece

Plenty of soap (you know, because of the toilet paper issue), and water that got hot fast.  Most excellent.  This was the perfect amuse bouche for...

I will Xlerate you.

This bad boy.  The evil hand drying spawn of Robocop and the Terminator, the Xlerator was awesome!  Like a slow motion clip of a dog with his head out a car window, the force of the wind blew my handskin around into patterns that were comical.  During drying, the current just pushed my skin out of the way so it could blow off all the water.  Unbelievable.  I want one of these at my house... to blow leaves.

This is a great men's room, and one into which no one should ever fear treading.

Four pucks.