The Pee Dee
Chanley was almost the perfect rebound. Handsome, tattooed, unambitious (polite way of saying slacker), a few years older. He was a local rock star and put me on the guest list of all his bands shows. He lived in a big rundown old house with his six male bandmates. The non-functional pool in the backyard was emptied and converted into any skateboarders wet dream. The dining room had been transformed into a rehearsal space complete with opium den-like pillows on the floor for smoke breaks.
Despite occasionally feeling like a groupie, I loved hanging out at Chanleys place. Except for one thing. I always left when I had to pee.
To say that Chanleys bathroom was uninviting would be a grave understatement. Shaving remnants from weeks prior clung to every surface, creating the impression that the sink was growing a beard. The shower was black with slimy mildew and the holes where tiles were missing grinned mischievously. There was no toilet seat, and the bowl glowed a shade of yellow making it impossible to determine whether someone had forgotten to flush.
One night, after considering peeing standing up with my eyes closed and my nose plugged, I concluded that driving 40 minutes home was a better option. With a full bladder and A Tribe Called Quest blaring out of my speakers, I turned onto the highway, hoping that I wouldnt hit rush hour traffic. Only 10 minutes behind the wheel I was clutching my crotch and biting my tongue. There was no way I was going to remain dry 30 more minutes.
Pulling off the highway, I hoped to find a gas station, a McDonalds or just a friendly-looking tree, but saw only surly office buildings and vast parking lots. I took my chances on the first parking lot. It was midday on a Saturday, so the lot was all but deserted. There was a diner across the street, but I wondered if running was realistic with my bladder filled so far past capacity. I looked left, I looked right. And then it hit me and I peed all over myself.
My face and body contorted with the various conflicting emotions of a 20-year-old who had just wet herself. First shock, mixed with panic, then relief, embarrassment and a whole lot of discomfort. I stood soaked and smelly in my piss puddle, contemplating my next move. Finally I waddled back to my car, cringing with each step at the sloshing of the urine accumulated in my shoes. It seemed to echo across the parking lot as a reminder of my humiliation. Slosh. You pissed your pants. Slosh. You are disgusting. Slosh. Wheres your bladder control, asshole? Slosh, slosh, slosh.
Having just peed myself in a deserted suburban parking lot, I figured to hell with modesty and stripped naked from the waist down. With my jeans, drawers, socks, which I had to wring out, and shoes sitting crumpled and damp in the passenger seat I wrapped a blanket I found in my trunk around myself and set out once again for home.
Fiercely determined to get home as fast as possible, I drove in silence. My bare and still slightly moist foot was heavy on the accelerator: 70 mph, 80, 90. Distracted by the great time I was making, I didnt notice the police cruiser behind me until too late.
The female officer, small, mousy and looking all of 16 gum-chewing years old, was unsympathetic, mistaking my show of female camaraderie as flirtation. ("Come on, Officer, Im sure you know what its like ") She eyed my pile of discarded, urine-saturated clothes and wrote the ticket anyway.
"Wetting your pants is no reason to go that fast," she said flatly, tearing off my $110 speeding ticket.
Excuse me? Temporary loss of bladder control seemed like a justifiable reason to disobey the speed limit to me.
I considered trying to get a doctors excuse, documenting my weak bladder, and contesting the ticket in court. But somehow standing before a judge and explaining my situation just didnt seem like a good idea. "You see, your honor, the bathroom is really gross and ." In the end I decided $110 was the price I was going to pay for "having a little accident" in a public parking lot. I considered it rather lucky, actually. The fine for indecent exposure is much higher.
I never told Chanley. It took him weeks to figure out that whenever I said, "Ill be right back," I ran next door to use his neighbors bathroom.