C.S.: “There’s nothing that gets me hungrier than starving Jewish people.”
Clearly a sarcastic statement, made when considering the presentation on concentration camps. Of course, I forgot to inform C.S. that the presentation was on the American concentration camps, which held Japanese-Americans during World War II.
***
I am more sympathetic towards pregnant women than I was yesterday; I felt their pain.
I ran this morning, or rather, I jogged with intermittent wind sprints punctuating my slow cantor. The wooded track I run on has a long gradual incline and a sharp decline, or a long gradual decline and a sharp incline if you run widdershins. In order to make it up the slant, I have to go into sprinter mode, touching the ground with little more than the balls of my feet and my toes, hardly making any contact, and gunning it like a biblical tax collector was chasing me. Now, for someone in shape, this is hardly more than a basic bodily upkeep, but for me, it was like dragging a rock across an ocean. The net result, besides tacking ten minutes onto my life (which is a net loss of ten minutes since I ran for twenty), are the persistent sore ankles that now plague my legs.
As anyone who runs knows, I needed water when I returned, and lots of it. Slammed it down like I was in a shot-for-shot contest with an elephant. Good thing it comes from the tap huh? Had to get ready for school, so I did, and before I left the apartment, I took the opportunity to urinate. Sensible precaution, it would be about an hour before I would arrive the law school’s toilets.
I went to get some Chick-fil-a, maker of the greatest chicken nugget in history. Yes, I know in the past I maligned Chick-fil-a as little more than fast food swill, but I’m sorry baby, Vegas was a cruel mistress, it did horrible things to me, I didn’t mean any of it. Please take me back.
She took me back, and even handed me a large sweetened ice tea in the process. I took a few exploratory sips and rested the cup in its holder. No biggie right?
Halfway to school, I start to get that twinge, that light pressure that wanted to flow out of me, like a story, or a urine stream. Since it was in my belly and not my brain, I knew it was the latter. Whatever. I start relaxing my bladder a little instead of full on clenching. Why waste energy that might come in handy later? Its not like I let a few drops go, just kept the seal closed, but not iron-tight.
When I get to
Now, please please please feel the irony of this situation: I have to hold it in the parking garage, essentially one of the world’s largest toilets, at least according to all the alcoholics and homeless I have made the acquaintance of. I know its just a parking garage, but can’t they at least install drains and dividers for privacy? Maybe little stalls in the corners with basic piping just to move it all away?
I park, swing out of my car, holding my backpack, easily twenty pounds. Its hard to get out, and I’m starting to feel the pressure. Sweat is starting to sheen on my forehead, coat my body in a thin protective barrier. I shuffle, sore ankles and all, trying to shift the extra weight around, knocking into things because I create a much larger footprint with the backpack that I am not used to. And still my bladder cries for sweet release.
Pregnant women, I feel your pain.
Now, I’ve to walk ten minutes to get to the law school. I have two fears at this point, one chronic and irrational, one persistent and logical. The former is a fear of getting punched. I’m not joking, when my bladder is full, the worst thing I think could happen would be to get punched. You’re probably going to lose bladder control, and you’re probably in a fight, so you’ve got to beat down someone in wet pants. Win, and you’re a baby. Lose, and you wet yourself while getting beat. No win. The latter is simpler, in that I don’t want to have to cuyt someone off with a simple “I gotta piss, that’s more important than what you have to say.” Granted, my urine is more important than what you have to say, but I don’t want you to know that, and I don’t want to dissemble.
Normally, I enjoy the sights and smells, and by enjoy the sights and smells, I mean walk with my neck stiff, my eyes unwavering from the present course, my breathing through my mouth so as to avoid the sweet mélange of sweat refuse and smog.Now, my eyes are throwing around willy-nilly, tracking for anything that resembles a toilet and would afford me some trace amount of privacy. Anything. At one point, I look down at the ice tea I’m carrying and take a sip.
Dumbass.
I then think about it. Would it be possible to dump out the tea, absorb the $1.50, and pee in the cup in a corner? That was how far gone I was, that I considered peeing into my cup. In retrospect, I doubt the thirty-two ounce cup would have withstood the force of my amber blast (weak Styrofoam), and even if it managed to resist the fury of the stream, it likely would have overflown, creating a potentially more embarrassing situation (No, you really don’t want a sip of this, trust me.)
I have never been so glad to see the law school. I was so glad I took a sip of iced tea.
Idiot.
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