Wife stopped into one on the way home from Houston when I was released from the hospital after major abdominal surgery last fall. They were so late releasing me after my actual discharge orders, and Houston traffic was so bad exiting, that my pain meds had worn off and they gave me nothing to get home on except a prescription, which couldn't be picked up until we got home.
We counted on the reliable clean environment and lack of unknowns. We did not count on the fact she parked at the exact wrong entrance as far as where the bathrooms were located. I walked what felt like miles with angry savages throwing spears into my torso, although I knew it was actually a relatively short distance and I was just walking extremely slow. At the urinals I distinctly recall thinking I might not make it back out of there. I barely made it back out a much closer exit as people near me noticed my paleness and my walking like a 95 year old man and asked me if I was okay. I collapsed on the curb outside the door and instructed Mrs. DeT to go get the car and bring it there, I wasn't walking back to it.
In retrospect, in that circumstance I'd have traded a dirtier bathroom for one I didn't have to walk so far to. I think that's the last time I went in a Buccees.
