i pee

For those that know me know that I’ve got the bladder of a pygmy goat.  It actually was a ground breaking triumph in the world of bladder transplants, but while it’s a great accomplishment in the medical community, it means I have to pee early and often.  In college I went to one of those “bladder buster” nights at the local bar where beer is half price until the first person has to pee…I lasted half a beer.  And even after I explained my miraculous goat bladder transplant story I still got my ass kicked.

Also, for those that know me know that I have a hankering for beer.  I’m quite fond of it actually.

So a proclivity toward beer and a pygmy goats bladder is not a good combination and has led to some interesting plane rides being confined to my seat during take offs and landings by that god damned illuminated seatbelt indicator and the actual nineteen fifty two Buick seat belt.  Desperate times call for desperate measures though.  Two such incidents come to mind.  Don’t worry; they are more funny than gross or anything like that.

Toronto to Seattle:

A snowy, blustery, bitter cold winter evening.  Of course it would be “winter” I suppose.  I wouldn’t expect it to be snowy in the summertime.  Sorry about that whole winter thing.  Anyways, I was traveling with my boss at the time, a good ol boy from the South who liked to throw one or two or eight back.  Thankfully, he traveled a fair amount and had status with Air Canada, whose flagship lounge happened to be in the Toronto airport.  We settled in to the cushy leather chairs and noticed the tap of Molson Canadian dripping with condensation from the ice cold liquid goodness that was housed inside.  For those that don’t know, everything in most lounges is gratis so the first round was on me.  So there we sat lamenting the weather and doing our damndest to convince each other that we weren’t getting out of there anytime soon.  It seemed with each snowflake that past or gust of wind that rattled the windows our conviction grew and naturally so did our thought process in relation to the beer on hand, “well, one more won’t hurt, we ain’t getting out of here anytime soon.” 

Much to my chagrin, about an hour and several beers later our flight was announced ready for departure.  “Shit.”  I knew I was in trouble.  So I waited until I was the very last person to be called.  They actually called for me over the loud speaker and then I went pee.  As I finally settled in to my seat I thought, “I can do this.”  In your best captains voice imagine hearing this over the loud speaker…”well folks, looks like we’re going to be a little delayed here as the plane gets de-iced.  Just sit back, relax, and we’ll be on our way soon.”  First off, relax?  Our plane, that’s about to defy gravity and soar in the air at several hundred tons and it needs to de-iced?  Comforting.  Second, if you’ve never seen a plane de-iced, it’s not something someone in my condition wants to see…a guy with a giant hose spraying a yellowish green liquid all over the plane.  I’m not making comparisons, but you can imagine the images it was conjuring up for me.  “Double shit”.  Somehow though, I got through it, but the pain and urgency was hurtling at me like a freight train. 

Again, in your best captains voice imagine this little nugget…”uh folks, because of the weather we’re currently nineteenth inline for takeoff, but we’ll be in the air shortly so sit back, relax, and we’ll be on our way soon.”  So now I’m doing the sit down pee pee dance on a packed plane of miserable, weary travelers.  Pinch, deep breath, deep breath, pinch, pinch, pinch and so forth.  Finally, we’re in the air.  I’m staring at that god damned little seat belt light trying with everything I could to channel…the force, wicca shit, telekinesis, voodoo, or whatever I could to get that little s.o.b. to turn off.  Ding goes the first bell…its working!  Ding goes the second bell…almost there…Ding…captains voice, ”uh folks”…I don’t even wait for the end of the announcement…I’m off for the bathroom…”the captain has turned off the fasten seat belt signal, but for your safety while seated, please ensure”…yeah, yeah, I get it…out of my way there’s a flood a comin!  Sadly, I was coming from the middle of the plane and two people in the back beat me to it.  Stand up pee pee dance time.  I hear the slide of the lock and I’m poised to pounce when suddenly this little kid slides from behind me in between the outgoing gentleman and myself and in to the bathroom, but before he closed the door he looked back with this sly little smile.  And that kids name was Shia LaBeouf.

Just when I was about to kick down the bathroom door the other person came out.  And thank god for that person timing because had they not come out at that exact time we might not have such cinematic masterpieces as Transformers II or Indiana Jones VIII.  Just kidding, it wasn’t really Shia.

More recently, I was traveling from Boston to Seattle.  I had been in meetings all day, was exhausted, thirsty, and hungry.  I had an hour or so before my flight so I stopped for a bite to eat and a couple beers at the airport bar dealy by the gate.  Honestly, just two beers.  As per usual, I wait until the last minute, take care of business, and get on the plane just as the doors are closing.  I guess I was more tired than I thought because just as I sat down I was out.  I awoke some two hours later (at least it felt like that) and we were still taxiing.  I asked the guy next to me if I missed the announcement that the pilot had decided to drive the plane to Seattle and he said “no”.  Uh oh, choo, choo…the freight train was coming!  Finally though, wheels up, first ding, second ding, but I can’t stand it anymore.  I’m going to burst.  We’re still climbing, but I don’t care.  I bolt out of my seat and as I get closer to the bathrooms I see that the stewardess’ are sitting with their backs facing the bathrooms.  Hazaah!  I’ll just slide in before they have a chance to stop me.  Closer, almost there…holy shit, the bathrooms are all locked.  Those bitches locked the doors for take off!  Now what?  Think, damin it, think.  I’m almost there and it hits me…okay…look panicked at the ladies and cover your mouth with both hands…when they notice you convulse slightly, but not too much so they freak out.  Success!  One of them springs up like a mother with a sick kid and shoulder checks the door like she was Cam Neely or Gordy Howe or some other hockey player.

So there I am doing my business, faking puke sounds, and all the while that god damned fasten seat belt signal is shining brightly in my face.

And before you say anything I’m quite aware that this “condition” is probably half physical and half mental.  And yes, I have traced the mental part back to a bit of childhood trauma.  When I was seven years old I got up to go potty and there before the bathroom door was the ghost of Christopher Cross.  I was paralyzed.  Or maybe I was memorized by the melodic and dulcet tones as he sang Sailing over and over again.  Two hours later I had pissed my pants and my mom found me passed out on the hallway floor.  To this day I can’t listen to anything by that bastard without wetting my self.