Like Ice Cube didn’t say, today started off as a good day…
I purposely ate a blueberry bagel for breakfast, in case nothing else exciting happened while I was at work. I crossed three things off my current to-do list of 347 items, which is a huge deal. And yet the work day kept giving me huge gems, as I was able to successfully stalk someone at work to complete a project task. I started to really feel myself, and cleaned my desk before leaving the office, compiling several piles of paper into one, just to end on a good note.
I continued on to the Loop, a beautiful 3-mile path around the University of Miami, where one can encounter runners, joggers, and an occasional crocodile. Being an avid non-speedwalker, I shuffled around the campus as I listened to my “Dale!” Spotify playlist, humming to songs that I could barely understand. My plantar fasciitis kicked in high gear, so I knew I had already hit my 11,00 steps for the day. Even with a FitGear watch pieced together with UM duct tape and a burning foot, I was feeling pretty damn good. I reached my car with no parking ticket, gave an air high-five to Jesus, and took a huge swig from my water jug. I emptied it out and thought, I just drank my daily requirement of H20 – did I just have the perfect, adult day?
I set off down Useless-1, on my usual 30-minute ride home from work. Not too far into the trip, I felt as if I had to use the bathroom. Completely normal, as I just drank a ton of water, and it runs through me like Taco Bell most of the time. I wasn’t too concerned until I hit I-95, and thought something was amiss. It was then that I knew that I was not going to make it home and needed to stop somewhere. LIKE NOW. My first instinct was to go to Publix, so I flew into the parking lot, only to lose the last open space to a loud-ass Honda Civic. Frustrated, I peeled out of the lot with my building in my eyesight, less than half a mile away. I had to drive through Little Havana’s version of Skid Row, and became aware that I may have to resort to relieving myself in public.
*OK, SO I LITERALLY HAVE TO PEE RIGHT NOW… IS THIS 40????? I can only describe what happens to me now when I need to go as a violent act. I can go from “Oooh, let me go take a quick little break to the bathroom” to “IT’S HAPPENING” in a matter of seconds…
What about the abandoned road by the empty River Yacht Club? I could drive down there, and take care of my business. But what about crack? What if there’s crack down there? Will I see crack for the first time as I squat where valet used to park Diddy’s Rolls Royce? Am I willing to take that risk so I don’t pee in my Jeep?
No, I’m going to go home. I squeezed my legs together as tight as I could, and sped around the remaining blocks to my apartment. I get to my building and race up the parking ramp, not smart enough to know if the Kegel exercises I did were helping me to hold it in. When I jumped out of the car and ran to the elevator, I thought something slipped out. The blood drained from my face as I knew I was going to pee in the elevator, just like one of these rogue dogs. I get in the elevator, and I don’t have enough fight in me to even do the dance. At one point, I’m pretty sure I grabbed myself between the legs, praying nothing would happen and assured that I was giving Alejandro at the front desk quite a show on the security cameras. Of course, I’m on the 149th floor, so it felt like an eternity reaching my apartment. I go from thinking I’m going to ruin the elevator to peeing in the hallway in front of one of my neighbors. And they do CrossFit, so this would be pretty embarrassing. I managed to open my front door, missing the light switch, dropping everything on the floor, and it starts to happen. I know I’m crying, yet no tears are streaming down my face. Instead, it’s all coming down my leg. And yet, I see nothing. The gust of wind that entered my bathroom as I burst in causes the toilet lid to close, in what felt like slow motion. But I haven’t stopped going, and still I see nothing. I know I’m peeing, but where is it? Nothing in the threshold of the doorway, not the kitchen floor, not the bathroom tile – nowhere. I then realized my yoga pants were acting like a ShamWow. But no clean up would be necessary, as I was LITERALLY peeing on MYSELF. I fought between trying to pull off my wet spandex and the damn toilet lid that kept closing. By the time I was assume the proper position, my bladder was 94% empty. All I could do then was throw everything into the washer like someone on Dateline hiding evidence and take a 45-minute shame shower. That’s it – that’s the story.
-KEEP IT A HOT MESS