To Pee Or Not To Pee

So my place of employment has this really cool thing where the restrooms just randomly quit working. It’s usually when it’s raining.

Or the wind blows just the right way.

Or it’s Wednesday.

I should probably back up a little here. So, our building is off a highway, kind of in the country. I don’t know if we’re on a septic system, or what, but apparently there is some kind of pump involved that assists our toilets in doing their jobs to flush the poo away.

The pump, apparently, has gout or whatever that condition is that old people use to predict the weather with their body parts, because it’s usually a rainy day or threat of rainy day that causes it to go out. This usually happens on a day when I’ve had my third cup of coffee or an entire thirty-two ounce bottle of water and I waited to “go” because I wanted to finish just one more task at my desk.

My boss is very ambiguous about whether we have to stay or not.

“Well, legally, I can’t make you stay without a restroom…”

About that point, I’m usually hitting the door with my purse, keys and sunglasses in hand.

It’s not that easy, though, when you have a ton of work to do. We are allowed to take our laptops home to work in situations like that, but at work I have a regular sized keyboard and two additional monitors so that I can spread my work around and it’s easier to see and do things. So, when I’ve got a ton of work to do, I get in the car and drive a mile up the road to the nearest restaurant or gas station and make a pit stop.

May I just say…WHAT THE FUCK TAKES YOU WOMEN SO LONG IN THE RESTROOM???

I realize I’m a woman, too, but I don’t get this dilly-dallying in the potty. When you’ve lived your whole life with a tiny bladder like mine, you learn to be quick in the restroom; otherwise, you’d spend the majority of your time in there, and ain’t nobody got time for that!

Maybe, too, it’s because my father didn’t have patience for such things. Especially on road trips. Long, luxurious baths or showers were not on the agenda either.

He would say, “In the Navy, they would tell you it was time to shit, shower and shave, and you knew you only had ten minutes to do it all.“

“But, Daddy, I don’t have to shit or shave. Can I have more time to shower?”

That’s when I usually got a thump on the back of the head and was told not to talk back.

But back to the restroom, ladies. Listen, I’m quick. I can run in, do my business, wash my hands, and be back at my desk in three minutes or less. I realize some people have access issues or physical limitations that would increase your restroom time, but I’m not talking to you.

I’m talking to you cell phone browsers, mirror-gawking, washing your hands for twenty minutes people. It’s not a problem if there’s more than one stall (unless you’re at a rock concert or sporting event…then it STILL matters). It MATTERS GREATLY if the restroom is a one-seater.

Is there anything worse than feeling your bladder about to explode, jumping in your car, breaking every speeding law on Hwy 167, pulling up at the first fast food place you see, and then having the restroom door NOT open when you push on it?

Locked!

So as you stand awkwardly outside the ladies room door, trying not to do the tinkle dance, and also trying not to sneeze, cough, or otherwise jiggle your bladder, you seriously contemplate the men’s room. At this point, I would even use a urinal.

I didn’t say it would pretty. Just that I would use it.

So then you clear your throat to give a not-so-subtle hint that there’s someone waiting outside and the person inside needs to hurry and finish their business. Apparently, they don’t take hints, though, because there’s still no sound coming from inside and I’m beginning to wonder if there’s even anybody in there.

That’s when a young mom and a toddler walk up and the toddler announces at the top of her voice, “THERE’S A LINE! WE HAVE TO WAIT OUR TURN!”

At least she’s got manners.

Of course, Madame Slow-Pee is still taking her time and I see toddler start to do the tinkle dance. Her mom looks at me hopefully and I know she’s wishing I would let them go ahead of me before toddler has an accident.

But here’s the thing, young mom. I’ve been where you are. I’ve had a three year old doing the pee pee dance and I’m desperately trying to find some place for him to go so that I don’t end up having to take him out to the car (if I’m prepared) or home (if I’m not prepared), to clean up and change clothes.

But that’s WAAAAAAY more acceptable than the forty-seven-year-old who has a tiny bladder and no uterus to hold it up, having to take herself home to clean up and change clothes. Ya dig?

So, it’s a stand-off.

Don’t underestimate my ability to knock a tot down.

To quote one of my favorite movie scenes:

FINALLY we hear the long-awaited flush and then the faucet turns on and hand washing commences. By the time the door opens, I’m already halfway through it and barely lock it behind me.

The next day, all the stalls in the restroom had signs on them asking us not to flush wipes or sanitary items down the toilet.

I can only draw one conclusion…everything bad that happens in life can be attributed to periods. They truly are a curse.

P.S…don’t comment on this post and tell me that a “good” side effect of periods is the ability to have babies.

Until next time…Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring!