After the incident in the dorms my freshman year, peeing my pants really did start to occur with less frequency. I thought it was a sign I was becoming a real live adult. Oh, there were a few minor incidents here and there, but no full-on, wet pants in a public place. It’s been seven years since then, and compared to my earlier years, I’ve mostly managed to keep my bladder under control. Then this last May, the streak ended (or started up again, depending how you look at it.) I guess I became overconfident.
It was a Thursday, and at about 6:00 p.m., my bladder gently let me know that it needed some relief. The call for a toilet was mild, and I needed to get some stuff done so I ignored the warning. Over the course of the evening, my bladder would intermittently remind me it needed some attention, but I'd get distracted or there wouldn't be a bathroom nearby so I kept putting off the peeing. On Thursday nights, I occasionally drive 30 minutes south of my house to attend institute with a good friend. It lasts an hour and a half. That night after institute, my friend invited me to come to Wendy’s for a late dinner. I accepted the invitation, and after we ate and parted ways, I walked out to my car and remembered my need to pee again for like the fifth time. I was already outside of the restaurant and decided I'd just go at home (because it was way too inconvenient to walk 27 steps back to the Wendy’s bathroom!)
Well, on the way home I decided that I wanted go to my tanning salon really fast before it closed. By this time it was 9:30 and the salon closed at 10. I sped there as fast as I could and ran through the doors at 9:50 -- just in the nick of time. I knew that I should go pee but the owners were obviously ready to close up shop, and I felt bad delaying them anymore than I already was just by getting there so late. I decided to suck it up and hold my bladder for 15 more minutes. (Because what's 15 minutes when you've already been waiting 4 hours?) So I went into the little room with my favorite tanning bed, and one of the owners started the countdown timer which meant I had 3 minutes to undress, slather myself with lotion and get my i-pod ready before the cancer rays turned on.
While I was putting on the special tanning lotion, I realized that the need to pee was now urgent, but that stupid timer had started and I couldn’t waste precious tanning time just to get a little physical relief. Just 10 more minutes... So then I took my jeans off to apply more lotion. Well, the act of pulling my jeans down signaled to my bladder and brain that it was time to Open the Floodgates! They stupidly assumed I was standing next to a toilet.
Well I wasn't.
I was in a little locked room mostly naked, and a timer was ominously ticking down while the two owners wandered around outside making sure the rest of the salon was ready to close. My mind raced desperately for about 30 seconds while I held my knees clenched tightly together hoping to stop what had begun. But there was no stopping it. I quickly scanned the little room to see what my options were. The ones I identified were:
1. Pee all over the floor
2. Pee all over the tanning bed
3. Squat down and pee inside the little miniature garbage can next to the tanning bed
4. Pee into the miniature white towel provided by the tanning salon (obviously NOT provided for that purpose) or
5. Pick my undershirt/tank top up off the floor, shove it between my thighs, pee into it, roll it up, stuff it in my purse, proceed with the tan and then get dressed again sans undershirt and walk out of the room and the salon nonchalantly as though I did not just lose control of my bladder like a 3 or 103 year old.
I chose option 5.
I know, I know…completely gross huh? And while I immediately acknowledged the depravity of what I had just done, it didn’t stop me from laughing hysterically the entire way home. Maybe one day I’ll learn my lesson and either find bathrooms more frequently, whether I feel like I need to pee or not, or go on and buy some of those nice adult diapers I’ve seen calling my name at Wal-Mart.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Peeing Epic Part 2
As I mentioned before, peeing my pants has unfortunately not been an uncommon occurance in my life thus far. Describing each episode would take much too long (and totally ruin the comedic value of all the stories), so I've decided to highlight two of the most spectacular occurances here. Next time in my concluding epic, I will describe in detail the most recent, and possibly the most entertaining, peeing accident yet.
Many times when I have lost bladder control, I was able to cleverly hide it from any possible witnesses (i.e. "falling" into a puddle before my friend could turn around to see the incriminating wet streak running down my jeans) but then there are times when the urge to relieve myself comes on so suddenly and I am in such a public place, that there is no shielding myself from public humiliation.
I was a junior in high school and was standing next to my car waiting for the tank to fill when, without warning, pee started gushing out of my bladder. I immediately hunched over and clamped my legs together and then after taking a deep breath, I hobbled as quickly as possible inside the 7-11. I didn't see any restroom signs and so I frantically asked the cashier where the bathroom was. She was busy helping a customer and distractedly told me there was not a public restroom. And so I reacted how any (in)sane person would...I jumped up and down in frustration, waved my arms around and yelled "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!" My mature way of handling the situation must have really impressed the clerk. She looked at me with eyes bugging and quickly pointed to the back room. I raced back there, but unfortunately by then most of my bladder had already emptied. And so after a pathetic attempt to clean myself up, I took a deep breath and braced myself, like a prisoner walking to their execution, and with a much quieter air about me, I slunk out of the store with downcast eyes.
As a freshman in college, I lived on the 7th floor of the on-campus dorms. The basement of the building was the location of the laundry room and all of the vending machines, so I spent a decent amount of time down there. There was not a bathroom in the basement (very poor planning on the designer's part if you ask me!) and so I had several close calls down there that year. One evening I was browsing the different snack options in the vending machines and without warning I. Needed. To. Pee. VERY BADLY! The physical need was so strong, in fact, that my body involuntarily flung itself against the machine hard enough to knock a candy bar loose. I knew I needed to find a bathroom pronto, but the elevator in the building was way old and way slow, so I decided instead of going up 7 floors, I would instead just go up 1 to the lobby. In my panicked state, my mind forgot one vital piece of information. Our dorms were not co-ed, and boys were not allowed on any of the upper floors and so in the evenings the lobby would flood with young women from my dorm and their friends and suitors of the opposite sex. If I had remembered this, I probably would have just risked the long elevator ride. Instead, I stumbled out of the elevator and stupidly hopped/ran to the bathroom with my thighs clenched and pee escaping with every lurch while about 3,000,000 pairs of eyes gawked at me. After I finished my business, I had to walk past all of the witnesses again to go back to the elevator.
As if that walk of shame wasn't bad enough, when I got up to my floor, I headed towards my room at the end of the hallway trying to be inconspicuous so none of my floor-mates would notice me. My friend Carri spotted me and started calling my name. I ignored her, as my uncomfortably damp spirit (and pants) was priority over whatever she needed from me. This just made her mad so she started really yelling my name. I finally whipped around and yelled back, "I can't talk to you right now, I have to go change because i just PEED MY PANTS!" That shut her up.
I just re-read what I have written today, and after reviewing it and my other stories, as well as all the stories I have yet to tell (not just about peeing, but about everyting ridiculous in my life), I just realized that maybe it is not such a puzzle after all why I am 25 and still not married. Oh well, I may be alone, but at least I'm not boring! Until next time...
Many times when I have lost bladder control, I was able to cleverly hide it from any possible witnesses (i.e. "falling" into a puddle before my friend could turn around to see the incriminating wet streak running down my jeans) but then there are times when the urge to relieve myself comes on so suddenly and I am in such a public place, that there is no shielding myself from public humiliation.
I was a junior in high school and was standing next to my car waiting for the tank to fill when, without warning, pee started gushing out of my bladder. I immediately hunched over and clamped my legs together and then after taking a deep breath, I hobbled as quickly as possible inside the 7-11. I didn't see any restroom signs and so I frantically asked the cashier where the bathroom was. She was busy helping a customer and distractedly told me there was not a public restroom. And so I reacted how any (in)sane person would...I jumped up and down in frustration, waved my arms around and yelled "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!" My mature way of handling the situation must have really impressed the clerk. She looked at me with eyes bugging and quickly pointed to the back room. I raced back there, but unfortunately by then most of my bladder had already emptied. And so after a pathetic attempt to clean myself up, I took a deep breath and braced myself, like a prisoner walking to their execution, and with a much quieter air about me, I slunk out of the store with downcast eyes.
As a freshman in college, I lived on the 7th floor of the on-campus dorms. The basement of the building was the location of the laundry room and all of the vending machines, so I spent a decent amount of time down there. There was not a bathroom in the basement (very poor planning on the designer's part if you ask me!) and so I had several close calls down there that year. One evening I was browsing the different snack options in the vending machines and without warning I. Needed. To. Pee. VERY BADLY! The physical need was so strong, in fact, that my body involuntarily flung itself against the machine hard enough to knock a candy bar loose. I knew I needed to find a bathroom pronto, but the elevator in the building was way old and way slow, so I decided instead of going up 7 floors, I would instead just go up 1 to the lobby. In my panicked state, my mind forgot one vital piece of information. Our dorms were not co-ed, and boys were not allowed on any of the upper floors and so in the evenings the lobby would flood with young women from my dorm and their friends and suitors of the opposite sex. If I had remembered this, I probably would have just risked the long elevator ride. Instead, I stumbled out of the elevator and stupidly hopped/ran to the bathroom with my thighs clenched and pee escaping with every lurch while about 3,000,000 pairs of eyes gawked at me. After I finished my business, I had to walk past all of the witnesses again to go back to the elevator.
As if that walk of shame wasn't bad enough, when I got up to my floor, I headed towards my room at the end of the hallway trying to be inconspicuous so none of my floor-mates would notice me. My friend Carri spotted me and started calling my name. I ignored her, as my uncomfortably damp spirit (and pants) was priority over whatever she needed from me. This just made her mad so she started really yelling my name. I finally whipped around and yelled back, "I can't talk to you right now, I have to go change because i just PEED MY PANTS!" That shut her up.
I just re-read what I have written today, and after reviewing it and my other stories, as well as all the stories I have yet to tell (not just about peeing, but about everyting ridiculous in my life), I just realized that maybe it is not such a puzzle after all why I am 25 and still not married. Oh well, I may be alone, but at least I'm not boring! Until next time...
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