by Marshall Parks

Created on: July 15, 2008   Last Updated: April 02, 2010

Opening caveat: If you have a weak stomach, do not read any further!

My father was a bread man, delivering bread on a regular route. The work was hard and in the summer it was hot. I went with him on Saturdays when I was in school and every day during summer. By the age of thirteen, I could do everything, but drive the truck. His supervisor didn't approve at first, mostly because of insurance reasons, but I became an asset rather than a liability and he soon looked the other way.

His route took him to stores that were located in remote areas. Always the innovator, he provided these stores with things they couldn't get from other delivery drivers. He carried mail. He carried Hostess products. When customers complained that our company carried sweet rolls, but not doughnuts; he made a deal with a local doughnut maker. He bought home-made pies, anything to boost his income, most without the knowledge of the company. What they didn't know, wouldn't hurt them. What they did know was that Dad took a route at the bottom of the sales scale and turned it into number one.

Then one summer day, it happened. It has become a family legend over the past thirty-seven years. The poor victim has never forgotten. He may not remember my name, but he remembers me.

"Dad," I said. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"We'll be in Carrolton soon," he answered. If Dad didn't have to go, then I didn't have to go. I knew this about him from experience.

"Dad," I begged. My voice had risen an octave. "I can't wait."

"Just go out the door, then." He answered. The doors slid open, making it a possibility to urinate, but with a sixty mile an hour wind blowing around; it wasn't the most sanitary means by any stretch.

"I don't have to pee, Dad." I was getting desperate and the idea of me messing myself halfway through the route was not appealing. "Just pull over." I pleaded.

"There's no place to pull over, can't you hold it for five minutes?"

"NO!" I answered adamantly. "I don't care who sees, just pull over."

He muttered an expletive. "Well if you have to go that bad, use one of those doughnut boxes."

It didn't seem right, but the time for rationalization was over. I grabbed a doughnut box and prepared myself hastily for the deposit. I held on to the bars in the aisle and relieved myself. Seeing nothing viable to clean myself, I tore open a loaf of rye bread, reasoning that it had more resiliency than the other types of bread. That worked well enough that I could work my way to the cab and grab

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