Because It’s Cool

Of course I peed my pants, everyone my age pees their pants; it’s the coolest! You ain’t cool unless you pee your pants.

Billy Madison

After enjoying the Fear Street trilogy and writing half a scary story, I realized I should go back to basics. I lured you all here under the pretense of crazy and comedy, not horror. Plus, I eat ketchup on steak without shame now because I know I’m not alone. Let’s see what else we can dig up, shall we? Today, I want to share another ridiculous embarrassment that only happened because of my stubbornness.

Reminder: I know some of you tend to feel guilty for laughing at these, but don’t. I’m 33 now and I’ve been laughing at them for years. Yes, it sucked at the time, but you know what? I’d do it all again. It gave me stories that make people laugh, and they honestly are funny. If we saw it on tv, we would all laugh. But most importantly: this kinda stuff happens to teens every day. There are people living their own versions of this who have no clue it won’t matter in a few years. In the thick of it, you can’t fathom a day when your life isn’t ruined. If even one person going through that reads these and it actually helps them get through it - yea, bring it on. I’ll do these all day, I got a million more, just hold tight. 
But seriously, this is the best thing I’ve watched this year. I intend to have the book series before the day is over.

Before I begin, I’ve always had a sort of dream I would like other opinions on. I love classic stories. Poe, Lovecraft, Shakespeare, and so many more, but I hate the old timey speech. What if, someone were to rewrite those classics in modern language? I don’t mean a reboot where some schmuck tries to modernize the story and ruin it, those people should be shot. I want to rewrite them exactly as they are, merely translated to our language. Has anyone else done this? I would love to try it, but no one else has ever shown interest to the notion. Anyway, on to the show.

Let’s talk about a Senior field trip to a museum. A few things to keep in mind:

  1. Only the history class and teacher (Mr. Moore) went.
  2. It was the last class of the day. We each drove ourselves to the museum.
  3. I was dating the high-school sweetheart. He isn’t in this story, but he is relevant as to how I found myself in the following situation.
  4. I was already working at the restaurant from my Queen of the Walk series.

The day of the field trip was hell. I woke to my alarm with a desperate need to pee, almost painful. I emptied my bladder and dressed for school as usual, but as I applied make-up the urge to pee returned with vengeance. I knew something was wrong immediately. I have a boss ass bladder. I trained it to only need attention 2-3 times a day in my plight to avoid public restrooms. Sitting to do my business, I felt a burning sensation as a trickle of urine exited my body.

Terrified, I feared the worst. Was it an STD? Had to be, right? I shudder to think of my reaction had Google not been there to save me. Even back then WebMD identified it as cancer, but admitted an Urinary Tract Infection (UTI) was also a likely culprit. Knowledge is power. I learned it was a common issue which normally resolved itself in a matter of days.

Unfortunately, it listed “frequent intercourse” as the common cause. Normally, I would say “that’s the reason I didn’t tell my parents,” but I’ve never lied to you guys and won’t start now. I wouldn’t have told them regardless the problem or cause. I tried to psych myself up, mentally defeat the UTI, but clearly science doesn’t give a damn about my mental resilience. Telling myself ‘it just feels like you have to pee, but you don’t’ didn’t make it true.

If you’ve never experienced one first hand, I’m not sure how to describe the intensity. Have you ever had a lot to drink before going to bed? Has it woken you in the middle of the night because your bladder was about to explode? If you’re like me, maybe you’re too lazy to get up. Maybe you ignore it successfully and fall asleep, but what did it feel like next time you woke up? Add an extreme burning sensation as if someone heated your urine to the boiling point and you have a decent idea.

After each class – and a few times during – I was forced to use public restrooms. As if I could afford to lose more pieces of my soul. The longer I held it, the more I had and hotter it burned. To make matters worse, I was expected at work after school. Perhaps my years of (almost always) successfully hiding my period made me cocky, but I thought I could pull it off. At least I can say I gave it the old college try.

I kept my problem secret from everyone, including Thelma. Any bathroom related issues in high-school were basically social suicide, and I was already dead in the water far as that went. Needless to say, my mood was poor; but as we drove to the museum, I felt good about making it through the school day. The hard part was over and I believed the rest would be downhill. It’s amazing how stupid we are as children. The urge to pee was prominent when I got in the car, but I was too lazy and sick of the school’s disgusting toilets to go back. I should have gone to the bathroom upon arrival, but again, Past Me was a stubborn dumbass.

As we gathered at the entrance, I saw we had been duped. I love museums and was pleasantly surprised to learn we had one…. but I would describe that place as ‘a large house filled with town history.’ I decided it’s only going to take a few minutes to walk through this place. I can wait until work, it’s just down the street.

I held my bladder as Mr. Moore gave the usual field trip speech, “Be respectful, and don’t touch anything.” He waited until after we were inside and he was blocking the exit to add, “Since we all drove ourselves, this is not technically a field trip. You can go straight home when you leave, but I would like you all to look around first.” He was extremely passionate about history, but his love for our town’s history bordered on unhealthy obsession.

Yes, our town has a lot of interesting parts to it, but I lost all respect for the man after our lessons about slavery. For any fellow John Oliver’s Last Week Tonight fans, you may have seen S07E20, US History about Southern private schools’ archaic history lessons. That was Mr. Moore. He told us things I fear to repeat and he believed them, but the scary part was how many students eagerly adopted his conviction. Alas, I’ll save those for another day. I’ve been working hard to avoid tangents and don’t want to backslide now.

Thelma and I walked through fairly quickly. I did see a few interesting things I would normally have enjoyed, but it was hard to focus when it felt like my bladder was coordinating an armed rebellion against me. As we made it to the final display on the second floor, a new level of urgency struck. I knew beyond any shadow of doubt I could not hold it any longer. All fear of public restrooms vanished as I raced to locate a toilet.

Suddenly, the museum didn’t seem small anymore. After a complete run-through, I failed to find restrooms. I imagined fleeing to my car, preferring to wet my pants privately, but then I saw it. Tucked into a small hallway a beautiful, skirted stick woman’s open arms and expressionless face beckoned me. I ran into her loving embrace and plowed straight through it, into an actual woman who was trying to exit. She cursed and I apologized without stopping.

Somehow, I was lucky enough for the bathroom to be otherwise empty. Had the woman I bumped into been a few seconds slower, this story may have progressed much worse. So desperate was my situation, I couldn’t yet breathe easy. As I ran the last few steps into the closest stall, I began… leaking. I clinched with all my strength, not a drop should have been able to squeeze through. My thoughts as I stood in the stall, next to a clean, functional toilet with piss slowly running down my legs, are impossible to translate.

I’ve never performed well under pressure, not physically. My brain will offer solutions, but even the best ideas are useless if you don’t possess the capacity to execute said solution. I knew I needed to undo my pants and get my ass over that toilet, but my fingers didn’t work. I wasn’t wearing traditional button up jeans, I wore capris pants with a tie-string. I was often pantsed (you know, when they yank your pants down) at school and always utilized every tool at my disposal to prevent such actions. In my haste, I pulled the wrong string, creating a tight knot I couldn’t undo even if I weren’t actively peeing my pants.

I was further distressed to discover it was not the short trickle I’d experienced when returning to the bathroom every hour; it was the full stream of a drunk girl on her second bottle of wine. Adrenaline surged through me as I pulled at my pants and wiggled my hips. I was rewarded with slow yet steady progress. I watched the urine puddle grow and spread into neighboring stalls with despair. I expected someone (most likely a classmate) to walk in any moment, but they didn’t.

No more than 60 seconds could have passed between the time I entered the stall and finished soaking the floor, yet I feel like I experienced hours worth of thoughts. I’m not sure why I didn’t sit on the toilet with my pants up. It’s not that I didn’t think about it, I considered it almost immediately. I even realized it would make a huge difference in the clean up if someone entered.

Each time I imagined the door opening, my stomach lurched and I thought I would puke. When the stream finally ran dry, I let go of my pants in favor of toilet paper. I ignored my pants as they finally fell to the floor, instead concentrating on dropping as much TP as possible. I know “life-threatening situation” sounds dramatic for a pants wetting, but I was 17, a Senior, and finally at a point where boys didn’t spit on me everyday. The prospect of everyone learning I wet my pants on a field trip (while Billy Madison was insanely popular) felt that way in the moment.

I wanted to clean my mess. I struggle for a word stronger than shame; the emotion I felt was so much deeper. My legs and pants were soaked. The puddle spread through my stall, two others, and the open floor. My mind raced for a solution, but there was so little time. I would be lying if I said the grossness didn’t play a part in my decision, but I truly feared I would be discovered any second. I wore a thin, long sleeve shirt over a skimpy tank top. The kind I would normally never wear in public but technically covered the important bits.

I had no choice. I secured my pants once more, removed my shirt, and tied it around my waist. With my head down, I speed walked out the door. I made it to my car without seeing anyone, but wasn’t out of the woods yet. I didn’t know if anyone saw me exit the bathroom which led to hours of paranoid daydreams and a fresh surge of panic with each new text. I also needed new pants if I didn’t want to explain why I was ditching work last minute.

My trunk was basically a suitcase and I hoped to get lucky. I was willing to wear pajamas if it was all I had. I lucked out with slightly stained but acceptable jeans and threw the wet pants into the dumpster at work. I used the horrible bathroom every 20 minutes, terrified of a repeat occurrence, but survived the shift.

That night, I called Thelma. I wanted to think of a way to ask “So, anybody happen to notice pee all over the bathroom floor at the museum?” But Thelma beat me to it.

“Dude! I forgot to tell you! The funniest shit happened after you left the museum! Some lady’s 3 year old pissed all over the bathroom floor.” Thelma paused, laughing hysterically. My heart lifted, but I was too afraid to hope.

I held my breath until I could wait no longer. “No way, you’re screwing with me right? What happened?” I forced a laugh, trying to hide my anxiety.

After a few deep breaths she was able to continue. I feel bad about this now, but admit I was extremely proud and laughed with Thelma when it happened. #Honesty. So, here’s what happened:

The manager walked into the bathroom minutes after I left but never saw me. What she did see, was a mother kneeling in front of her small child.

Manager promptly exited the bathroom, intent to confront Mother. “Excuse me! Ma’am? You cannot do that! You’re going to have to clean that up!”

Mother, taking a few steps back, is confused at first. “I’m… sorry? Um, I think you have the wrong person.” Thelma mistook the lady’s genuine confusion for ‘complete guilt’ and mistook my resulting laughter as genuine instead of guilt.

“No ma’am, I saw you come out of here. I understand children have accidents, but you need to be the one to clean it up.” Manager lowered her tone, aware she was attracting attention.

“Lady, we didn’t go in there, we just stopped so I could fix her backpack.” Mother now had the child’s hand, backing away from the crazy woman.

“Look, I’m sorry I spoke loudly, I was just… surprised. It’s really not a big deal. I’ll get you a mop, there’s one right down the hall.” Manager changed tactics, but to no avail.

Mother looked to the crowd around her with a facial expression begging do you people see this?! But found no support. As Manager walked away, she called after her, “I don’t know if someone has crapped or puked – because we didn’t go in there – but I’m not mopping up someone else’s mess in someone else’s house. Maybe you should hire a janitor if you aren’t capable of cleaning your restrooms.” With that, she scooped up her child and left.

Manager walked to the front windows, watching her until she was out of sight. With a sad, slow shake of her head, she addressed the crowd. “I walked in there right as they came out. And she knows that, but she wants to stand there lying to my face rather than admit her daughter peed all over the floor.”

All agreed with her regarding the sad state the world had become. Anyway, the UTI cleared up within a few days, but the first was unquestionably the worst.

A bonus tidbit you may find amusing: a few years later, Thelma got an UTI and peed all over a dressing room floor at an outlet mall. The only difference is she got caught. She told an employee she couldn’t clean it up, apologized, and never returned.

I just realized this the third story involving a bathroom incident and I’m not even halfway through them. Oh well, this is probably enough for today. Thank you for your indulgence, and I sincerely hope you laughed.

I still haven’t been able to get a photo of Heathcliff, but he received pets this morning! He ran to me for breakfast and rubbed between my legs like a pro so I went with it. In lieu of his photo, I will pay the cat tax another way.

Ari mothered Romulus a lot as a kitten. They remain very close.

Remember, stay safe out there. Sometimes, they really are out to get you.

28 thoughts on “Because It’s Cool”

  1. I think, maybe, that “mortification” is the word you were searching for? I have lived through more humiliating moments than I care to recollect, and yet, they are exactly what I revisit when I catch myself getting a bit too full of myself, a bit too complacent. They are a laxative for the soul.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, thank you that hit closer to the mark. I find a nice helping of humble pie is good for the soul, we should all embrace our soul laxatives (soul laxative. Now that’s gold, thank you!)


  2. Honestly, this is exactly why I don’t like to go out somewhere. In my house, I know where everything is, including the toilet. Now, imagine if you have to pee as a blind guy, and asking someone to come with you because you don’t know the place…

    Add it to the fact that I have Vegeta levels of pride. I value my independents because otherwise I’ll just live like a zombie, with no life in me, after all, why bother when you’re nothing more than just one more responsibility for everyone else?

    Thankfully though, I never peed my pants. You are a great person that you can laugh at these things. But me? I would have hidden that incident in the deepest and darkest corner of my mind, and would have done my best to not remember it.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. I totally get that. I don’t leave the house NOW. If I’m being 100% honest, I’m afraid of the dark – so I don’t think I would handle being blind well at all. I think imagining what was around me would quite literally drive my crazy. I don’t have the mental fortitude to not KNOW if someone is sneaking up on me. That being said – never doubt your specialness.

      I think saying “one more responsibility” is a little hard on yourself. You’re clearly very intelligent, kind, strong and funny. I think you are a MUCH better person than I am lol.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. 🤣 that is the worst, I’ve had errant pees because of a weight gain…with shrinkage involved. It rarely happens in public, but it has happened at my job, at my Dad’s house and at a movie theater. Aside from my Dad’s I’d play it off that the piss was unknowingly already there when I dropped trough.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Actually, I just had a repressed memory bubble up… A long time ago I was in Grand Central Terminal and was running late for a train. I had to pee and there were scary-ass people in that restroom so I was rushing and instead of doing the right thing and putting lots of toilet paper on the seat, I hovered over it (I HATE when people do that but I was in such a damn hurry). I noticed the floor was wet and wondered where it was leaking from. And then realized it was leaking from me. And then I ran away to catch my train and I’m sure whoever saw it just blamed it on the homeless people. Not sure why I shared that. I guess you inspired me.

        Liked by 2 people

      2. Lol I love it! The world would be a much better place if everyone could admit they’re human. One day, when I’m fully switched into crazy mode and try to write a manifesto, I think that will be my main theme. Well one of them. I’ll probably spend 75% on tangents.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. I love Dickens and Austen, but you’re right they are hard to understand. I had to read every sentence 3 times before I understood what they were saying. There is a book I just finished that was translated from Portuguese that is from the 1800s or early 1900s and they used modern day English (for the most part) and that was interesting, but still hard for me to comprehend at times. Other than that, the most I’ve seen for most English old timey authors is footnotes. It would be cool if you could try and do that, but half the beauty of older books is the way they strung sentences together.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. That’s exactly how I feel! Some of the language is pretty and clever and I enjoy it. But then I just want the story itself but like you said – I have to read each sentence 3x to fully grasp it and it drives me crazy. Sometimes I wish I had two copies – one to just read the story to enjoy the content and then the original to read after lol.

      Maybe I can try a shorter one to see how it goes. I started to read The Time Traveler last month and each sentence I was thinking “why not just say xxx” instead and I almost tried it with that but it’s a little longer than I would want to dedicate to a first attempt.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Online sparks notes helped me a lot. That’s how I finished “A Tale of Two Cities”, “Dracula” and “Hard Times”. But I think it just made Dracula more sexist. lol

        Liked by 1 person

      2. LOL that’s the worst part about the old stuff, such great stories but women are fainting left and right. I did well with Dracula but I didn’t make it through Two Cities – which is weird I genuinely do pretty good with Dickens but that may be because I’ve read Christmas Carol so many times.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. YESSS and it’s bad enough the men think that way, but then they write the woman agrees or “understood her place and showed respect” kinda stuff and I’m like “No, that woman has a plan to kill you in your sleep.”

        Liked by 1 person

      4. It was just weird to me because I would think, “Dickens wrote really great female characters without this weird condescension. Is Dickens the weird one or is Bram’s the weird one?”

        Liked by 1 person

      5. Oh I think Dickens is the weird one, or at least in the minority. Bram was one of many, it’s just how they talked and thought back then. No one ever thought twice about that stuff. Look at all the stuff Twain got away with.

        Liked by 1 person

      6. Dang! I had to limit by book consumption to one a month, but joined 2 book clubs so now it’s like 3 a month. I have about 22 on my list and I have to reread 2 series over again to re-remember things for the new ones.

        Liked by 1 person

      7. That would be hard! Most of the books on my list are books that I wasn’t able to get at the time of me reading a specific series. It’s kind of nice rereading books I liked. That way I can judge and condemn my high school taste.

        Liked by 1 person

      8. Lol! That is super fun to do I love revisiting my nostalgic ones, but I’m usually so pressed for time I’m unwilling to re-read something old when something new awaits. It’s a never ending struggle.

        Liked by 1 person

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