I peed on BART
It's not like I could have gotten off and gone to the bathroom. Some BART official, in his or her infinite wisdom, has decided that BART bathrooms have the potential to be major targets for terrorist attack, so they've been closed. For like three years. I think it's just an excuse to keep some poor bastard from having to clean them, but I really don't blame anyone for that.
Even if the bathrooms had been open, I couldn't really have gotten off the train to use one, because I was on the last train to the city for the night. I had to pee real, real bad.
At first I tried to distract myself. I read the BART newsletter. I played with my Swiss Army knife. I cut my fingernails with said Swiss Army knife. I looked at the other degenerates on BART at 1:00 a.m. on a Sunday. They were all either asleep, dead, or carrying on conversations with themselves in their "outside" voices. I think the train operator must have been asleep or dead himself. That or maybe he was getting some late night BART action in his little BART cockpit. Whatever, he was taking his sweet ass time getting to where I needed to go. The train was actually going in slow motion. Or maybe that was just my brain.
Distraction didn't help. I couldn't just will this piss away. About an hour into the trip, grinding my teeth and perspiring, I decided I had to be proactive. I figured I could either do something about the situation, or have my poor bladder explode all over the BART car and the sleeping/dead/crazy people inside. The former seemed like it would do less overall harm than the latter, so, achingly, I pondered my options.
Luckily, I've developed a fetish for collecting those little barf bags you
find in the seat backs of airplanes. Some would think this is a strange hobby, but man, I love 'em. I haven't thrown up in nearly four years, but for hypochodriacs with a mild anxiety disorder who ritually obsses about the sudden, unexpected expulsion of bodily fluids (think: What About Bob), they're a perfect security blanket. I'm one of the above, and make a point of carrying at least one of these in my satchel (it's not a purse, dammit!!!) at all times. They can hold any fluid. I even drank beer out of one once.
Anyway, on the verge of meltdown, I took the barf bag out of my purse, I mean satchel, slyly looked to see that no one was watching, unzipped, and let 'er go. Sweet relief! Mind you, I held my jacket over the whole affair, so that if by some miracle one of the other passengers had seized themselves out their drug- or booze-addled states and saw me, they wouldn't necessarily be able to tell what I was doing.
Now, for the ladies out there, or for the guys who haven't tried it, peeing into a bag while sitting down, at the same time trying to maintain an air of nonchalance 'cause you know there are security cameras filming you, is a bit harder than it sounds. Especially when you're dealing with extreme volume and firehose pressure. Basically, I got about as much in my lap as I did in the bag. At that point though, it didn't friggin' matter. I was floating. I could see again. I casually zipped up under my jacket and placed the nearly-full barf bag of hot urine under the seat, to wait out the rest of the ride.
Now, when I finally got to my stop, what did I do? Did I make the responsible move and take the urine with me to throw away in some sort of urine-throwing-away-approved receptacle? No. That would be far too obvious, and I had my decency to maintain. Instead I just whistled a tune as I gaily sauntered out of the station on my way home. Of course, all the people on the street saw my lap and knew I had pissed my pants. But they were wrong, I only HALF pissed my pants. Hah! I got a few weird looks.
The one part of the incident I regret is leaving the evidence on the train. I was still too drunk to think about the poor bastard who at some point would have to pick up and throw away my leaking, steamy bag of piss. To this person: I am truly sorry. If fate ever has us meet again, I will definitely buy you a beer. Or maybe give you a lifetime supply of barf bags or something.
Dear BART: Open the friggin' bathrooms already for chrissakes!
this is in or around Somewhere in the tube