Getting Pissy
By Rob Bloom

Would you believe that 68% of people give up on their New Year’s Resolutions by week two? No? How about 43%, would you buy that? Whatever the case, I’m ready to defy the odds. I know, I know. You’ve got a better chance of being struck by lightning, winning the lottery, and finding that missing sock in the dryer than you do of keeping your resolution throughout the year. Well not this time. This year, I have a goal and I’m gonna see it through.

I’m going to quit using the ladies room.

Stop frowning; it’s not what you think. This isn’t going to be a gross column about the bathroom. Nor will it have any of the gross characteristics of that “bathroom humor” the kids get such a kick out of. You know: references to bodily noises, bodily functions, bodily noises that may or may not result when one performs bodily functions. Oh, and there’ll be absolutely, positively no giggling on my part when I write the words “toot” or “poot.” Starting now. Really, please rest assured that I will not squat so low as to write a gross column filled with cheap pot shots at comedy. You can flush those fears away.

So like most major commitments and important political decisions, my resolution resulted from an unexpected urgency to use the bathroom. I say “unexpected” because from time to time and without any prior warning, the brain (the cerebellum and jelly region) will have a conversation with the bladder (the South of the Border region) to determine the best possible way it can inconvenience you. In my case: rush hour on the highway.

BRAIN: So whaddya say?
BLADDER: Now?!?
BRAIN: Why not? He’s driving.
BLADDER: Hmmm, how far’s the next exit?
BRAIN: You’ve got the map, Columbus.
BLADDER: It’s folded all wrong. I can’t read this thing.
BRAIN: Okay, whatever. It’s gotta be ten miles until the next exit. At least.
BLADDER: And?
BRAIN: And there’s traffic.
BLADDER: (laughs) Oh, it’s SO on.

So what do you do when you’re driving and nature calls? Well, if you’re like me and you don’t have very many daytime minutes, you ignore it. Problem is, it’s only a matter of time before the calls progress to text messages and then, inevitably, instant messages — an uncomfortable yet painful plateau where your only options for relief are (a) performing the Pee Dance and (b) trying to ignore the bumper sticker on the Subaru in front of you that says: “Visit Niagara Falls!”

Four Pee Dances later, I exited the highway and immediately began my restroom search by driving recklessly without any concern for the safety of others (in full accordance with Northeast Driving Guidelines). I screeched into the parking lot of a local coffeehouse and, with my bladder now roughly the weight of a Honey Baked Ham, carefully navigated the maze of little circular tables and waddled back towards the men’s room… which was occupied (in full accordance with the Murphy’s Law Guidelines: Pee Edition).

Now anyone who’s ever experienced this agonizing situation knows you’ve really only got two options.

1. Go somewhere else. A reasonably logical thought to which your bladder responds, “Don’t even think about it.”
   
   
2. Continue to wait. Eventually the person will come out and you’ll need a gas mask to go inside or, if it’s really a long time, you’ll have firmly etched your legacy around town as the “pee dancer with the leaky pipes.”

Then again there’s always a third option, a backup plan more commonly known as “nothing good can possibly come out of this.” But c’mon, drastic times call for emergency urination, which is exactly how I ended up inside a stall in the ladies room. Of course, in a situation like this, you want to get in and get out as quickly as possible without being seen. After all, time is of the essence. So is locking the door.

WOMAN WHO WALKED IN AND SAW MY FEET FACING THE WRONG WAY: Aaaaaaaaaah!

(sound of my jaw dropping)

ME (internally): Quick, think! What do I do?
BRAIN: Sorry, you got yourself into this mess. You figure it out.
ME: Ah! How ‘bout you?
BLADDER: (zzzzzzzzzzz)

I decided to handle the situation in a mature, adult, and appropriate manner: by hiding. Incidentally, when a man is crouched on top of a toilet in the ladies restroom and desperately trying to think of a plan to escape without being seen, there’s a surprisingly large amount of time for self-analysis. This, of course, brings me to my New Year’s Resolution. I promise to never, ever, ever again use the ladies room. Assuming that I ever get out of this one.

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