Pee, Myself, and I

I did not plan this well.

God damn, this is about to be a nightmare.

Okay.

Okay.

I can do this.

Breathe.

This is easy.

Remember that time when you really needed to shit in Palo Alto? You found a bathroom in the end. Sure, you might have been turtling and on the verge of collapsing, but it all worked out fine. God that place was a shit hole, but hey, desperate times, am I right?

I’m sure this will work out fine. You will be okay.

You got this.

You have to have got this.

Remember that article you read last week about the best ways to deal with situations like these? Step 1: think about literally anything else.

Let’s do that.

Hmmmmmmmmm.

Okay got it – remember that trip you took to Hawaii? Think about the sun. The warm, warm sun. The beach. The beach volleyball tournament you got into with Carrie. The ocean breezes. Oh fuck.

The ocean.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

I am so so so sorry.

Let’s try that again.

Work.

You can’t possibly think about liquids and water when thinking about work. You have to prep for that client meeting on Thursday, probably should call Karen to go over some talking points on Tuesday. You have dinner on Friday with the head honcho for bonus time.

Hmmmmm. Bonus season.

You should take Carrie to the city to celebrate. Perhaps some Luger’s action? It is her favorite spot in town after all. A nice red with a good o’l filet mignon could be nice – you deserve it. God knows she does – I don’t get how she’s able to put up with your shit. With all these meetings you take, I honestly don’t know how she doesn’t think you are having an affair! She’s a saint.

Saint.

Church.

Holy Water.

I am.

So.

Sorry.

Oh god.

Step 1 isn’t working – Step 2. What was that again?

Pace.

God this is going to be awkward. You should have just peed before you left, you dumbass.

God – why do I always have to do everything for you?

Okay, this is going to be awkward, I apologize in advance. Desperate times heh.

Okay, here we go. Ignore the other passengers. They won’t notice unless you act weird – just walk up and down the car.

We’re good.

This is good.

This is actually super relieving. Let’s go back to thinking.

I have an idea.

Let’s play a little game. See that girl down there with the leaky headphones in, the wild pink hair, and the trashy fit? Let’s give her a story.

She’s obviously not a local since nobody here listens to whatever satanic cult music she’s blasting. She works at a record store, based off her “Middle Death Records Inc.” tee, or maybe she’s trying to be edgy? No. No. Dumb point. She has a nametag. Amelia.

Amelia had a decent childhood. She grew up in the nice part of town, her parents loved her with all their hearts, but she was an only child and they were always busy. Her dad was an accountant, with a pocket protector and all, and her mom was a teller at the local bank. Their absence lead to extended periods of time spent at home. At first, she used the time to read. She loved to come up with imaginary worlds, and be lifted out of her dull reality. Her favorite world was one wherein her name was Daphne, and she rode a unicorn and was also a schoolteacher. Then in middle school, she met a boy.

Jacob.

Jacob was a wild kid, very into guitar, he was regularly in a band every year after 3rd grade. He was cool and hated school. His confidence wowed Amelia, and she fell into what she thought was love.

See! This is working.

This is working!

Just a few more stops and you can relieve yourself.

Amelia’s parents got divorced, and Jacob was there for her. He introduced her to heavy metal. He cheated on her with a tall blonde girl named Jesicah that he met at the movies one day, and eventually moved out of that phase of his life. Amelia never grew out of the phase and decided to move upstate; she had no interest in college. At one point she had considered murdering Jesicah and then killing herself, but decided not to when she heard that there would be a Dying Fetus album releasing in 6 months. That was her favorite band.

Jacob is into finance now, works on Wall St. He isn’t very good at what he does, but he works hard, wants to retire early and spend the rest of his days with his wife Pamela in Calexico, enjoying martinis near the ocean. They have two kids, Ron and Clark, who hate each other. Actually, it would probably be a good idea to see if Jacob would be interested in working with-

Oh, wait a sec, did I say the ocean?

Oh no.

I’m sorry.

Shouldn’t have gone that far. My fault.

Fuck - this is harder than expected.

Okay.

Let’s turn back around and pace to the other end.

See that lanky white dude? His name is Kyle.

Kyle was a prodigy growing up. He could read at the age of two and became the focus of a few studies around the country. He was tested in all kinds of ways and was named one of the brightest people of all time. He was particularly good at algebra, and by the fourth grade had created a new equation to describe the relationship between the velocity of two objects.

Unfortunately for the world, but fortunately for Kyle, he picked up a basketball in 5th grade and found it much more interesting that the testing he was doing. He told his parents he wanted to play basketball instead, but at that point, they had been getting paid for the studies done on him and turned him into their sole stream of income.

Obviously, they refused to let him play basketball. As a result, he began to act like an idiot at every test. He would hurl insults at those testing him, and eventually became so horrible, that none of the people who tested him could handle him. One time, after a trip to the zoo, he began to imitate the animals he saw with the person testing him. The tester was incredibly patient and found it funny, to Kyle’s dismay, so he decided that the only way he could piss the tester off was to get up, take a shit on the table they were sitting at, and begin to play with it. It did just the trick, and he was soon resented by the testing community.

His parents took to hating their child. He had set them up and then destroyed their lives, in their eyes.

He got to play basketball.

He was pretty good, didn’t have the potential to be in the league though, and with his intellect was a candidate for seemingly endless scholarships. He ended up going to Harvard because he liked the Charles River and the bridge between Boston and Cambridge.

Honestly.

Just kill me.

I am so sorry.

Fuck.

We are going to need to speed this up.

Three more stops?

86th, 96th, 103rd.

You got this.

Yes.

You’re the man.

These stories are clearly not getting us anywhere, so let’s move to Step 3.

Clench.

Now we are going to continue to proceed to step 3, no stories obviously, and just clench and walk.

We got this.

Clench. Lift foot. Walk. Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Oh.

Oh no.

You.

Have.

Got.

To.

Be.

Kidding.
Me.

Why the is it raining?

Where the are these droplets even coming from?

Oh god.

There’s a leak.

You don’t have to tell me.

No - I get it.

I know how badly you wish you were that hose.

Don’t give up now, soldier.

Two stops to go.

96th and 103rd.

Lets pace again.

Oh no.

Amelia.

Why the fuck did we lock eyes?

Why you! Her and her stupid teeshirt and stupid band.

Life truly is a cruel mistress.

She 100% knows what’s going on. The jig is up!

If times weren’t so desperate, I would ask for the sake of both of us that you get off and wait for the next train to come, but we simply cannot afford that right now.

I know this is life or death.

We will make that.

On the bright side - Kyle has no idea what’s going on.

Your cover is not completely blown.

Okay.

Just pace.

Okay, here comes the station. Stand still. You got this.

Just wait.

Okay, here we go. One more stop and we’re goo-

Are you kidding me?

Are you actually serious?

Since when is groaning on the train a good idea?

Have you completely lost your mind, Thom?

Oh no.

NO.

NO. NO. NO.

NO, NO, NO, NO, NO.

We did not make it this far to end like this.

Oh, god.

You can’t stop it.

I’m sorry.

Just please stop groaning.

God, the man upstairs, whoever you may be, I hope you don’t see this.

Step 4.

Let it go.

Like Elsa.

Good luck, soldier.

Word Count: 1558