Here’s ANOTHER reason why I hate my long commute to the office. I’ve had “potty emergencies” in the past, but I have always been able to “hold on” until I get to the office.
I kissed my wife goodbye at the usual time and got in the car for the 29-mile, 90-minute slog to the office. I had just passed a rest area on I-95 south when I got the first, familiar indication that all was not well in the abdominal area. But I was pretty sure I could tough it out.
By the time I got to the Beltway, I began to eye the trees on the side of the road, wondering if it would be possible for a large man to hide in the woods at rush hour if the need to do so arose.
Traffic inched along, and by the time I got to the exit for Highway 29 (five miles away from my eventual exit), the need was powerful. I got on the shoulder and rushed to the exit. There was a McDonald’s ahead as I strained to hold back the approaching horror. There was also a red light. I drove through it and got to the median separating northbound and southbound, then waited for traffic to ease and shot through to the parking lot. I parked in the “drive thru” lane, right by the door, and hurried inside.
There was someone on the potty. I must have groaned, cuz the guy said, “I’ll be done in a sec.”
“I hope so, because any second now I am going to have to do something that you will tell your kids about when you get home tonight,” I said — eying the urinal and wondering if it would be possible to clean up the mess I intended to make … or if I would even attempt to do so.
Thank God, the dude burst out of the stall, smiling, buttoning his fly. I threw my coat to the floor, and… sweet relief.
For a little while.
I got back in the car and proceeded to the office. By the time I got to MY exit, the need had returned. Not quite as dire or drastic, but definitely there and urgent.
I got on the NIH campus, made my way to the office, parked the car, opened the door and stood up.
But just a little. I hurried into the office, threw my coat onto the coat rack, and before I could even sit on the “convenience” — it rushed out of me like a hooker’s sins at confession.
I gave my undies a quick inspection. No harm, no foul. Thank you, Jesus.