Insane Laughter Coming From My Pants

There was a time, many years ago, when there was a sort of predictability in my life when it came to traveling, and bathroom breaks.  This isn't to say that I'm suddenly living one of those spastic bladder commercials with the water balloons or people made of copper pipes.  Just that as I'm getting older, I can no longer go miles and miles waiting for a good place to relieve myself.

As I was driving from Indianapolis to St. Louis, I realized that all the root beer I enjoyed earlier was starting to get to me.  The old me would have checked my fuel gauge and did some calculating how long it would be before I could deal with the situation.  But this time, when I saw that I had a half tank of fuel left, my bladder sent a signal to my brain saying, "Hey, you need fuel *now*, asshole."

I sighed, knowing that my bladder had the ultimate bargaining chip.  Pee now, or change your pants shortly after that.  It was my call.

I checked my GPS unit and found that there was a Pilot station a few miles down the road, complete with diesel fuel, which is required for my truck.

I asked a friend of mine once if it was he had experience a phenomena which is what I call a Bladder Timer.  

"So," I said while we were having dinner at a restaurant somewhere in Indiana, "Have you ever realized you needed to pee, but it wasn't until you decided when you were going to do so that you feel that there is a timer going?"

He looked at me for signs of dementia or brain hemorraging, since the question came from out of nowhere just after we had discussed the validity of Lady GaGa's career.

"Uh...what?" he said, his fork hovering between and his mouth as he attempted to give me a psychological examination with his eyes.

I sighed and began again, hoping to save face.

"Have you ever been traveling and suddenly realized that you needed to pee.  Everything is fine until you decided when you will go on your restroom break, and suddenly, your bladder kicks into overdrive with anticipation.  By the time you get to a urinal, you feel like you are *just in time*." I said.

My friend took his delayed bite and said, "Oh yeah, all the time." through a mouth full of food.  

It's good to know that I'm not the only one who experiences that sort of thing.

In this case, that's exactly what happened.  Decision made, a signal went to my brain after calculating how long it was going to be before I would reach the truck stop.

Tick, tick, tick.

Now, as luck usually runs, when this timer starts, that's usually when I run into a traffic jam.  But, it was a beautiful day, and the freeway ahead of me was as clear as the skies.  Had there been any heavy traffic, I would have begun negotiations with my bladder and make an attempt to adjust the timer just a bit as an added security just in case.  But since things seemed to be in the clear, I allowed the timer to go on untouched.

A few miles later, I pulled off the freeway onto the ramp that would take me into Brazil, Indiana.  I got to the end of the ramp, and looked at the sign and was amused to find that there were two Pilot stations, one on the left and one on the right of the freeway.  I wasn't entirely sure why it was set up this way, but I figured that there must be some reason so, I turned to the right.

I pulled into the station and I drove around trying to find a pump with the diesel fuel nozzle.  There wasn't one to be found.  

And that was when the argument began between myself and my bladder.

Me:  Uh-oh, guess we know why there are two Pilot stations.  Guess we'll have to...

The Angry Water Balloon In My Guts:  Stop.  Pee.  Get fuel later.

Me:  Oh, come on, it's just down the...

AWBIMG:  Don't fuck with me.  Unless you want to buy a bottle of Febreeze here, which is probably 10 bucks a bottle, do as I say.

Me:  Oh, you're bluffing.  Come on, be reasonable.

AWBIMG:  No.  Stop here and pee.  The rest doesn't matter.

Me:  Please?  I just want to make one stop.  

AWBIMG:  *sigh*  Fine.  You get one chance, don't fuck it up.

I turned the truck around and headed to the *other* Pilot station, and I saw that no only did they have diesel, but the place was nearly deserted.  

I parked the truck and went through the motions of fueling up.  It was an older setup and I was pleasantly surprised to find that I could go ahead and pump without having to pay or insert a credit card first.  I have a large truck with a huge fuel tank, and most places anymore have a 75 dollar limit per transation, which is always a pain in the ass.  

I began the fueling and started to wait.

AWBIMG:  Okay, that's started, go pee.

Me:  Uh, let me finish this first.  You aren't supposed to walk away from the pump because...

AWBIMG:  That wasn't the deal.  You have your fuel.  Go.  Pee.  Now.  I mean it.

Me:  Remember that time when we walked away from the pump and it didn't stop when it was full?

AWBIMG:  One way or the other, there will be a puddle on the ground.  You picking up what I'm putting down?

Me:  Yeah, but if I piss myself it won't cost me 50 extra bucks.

AWBIMG:  How much is a new pair of pants, asshole?

Me:  I packed extra.  Now, just give me 3 minutes and let me finish this, then I'll go, alright?

AWBIMG:  You'll be in diapers by the time you are 50 if I have anything to say about it.  And you better hope you don't piss off Colon.  By 55, even your own family will be calling you Stinky McPuddingPants.

Me:  Quit being a drama queen.

AWBIMG:  Waterfalls, fountains, drip, drop, drip, drop.

Me:  *sigh*

I was really getting uncomfortable, but I knew that all I needed was a bit more time, and this situation would resolve itself.

After the pump clunked as it finished delivering fuel, I worked quickly to get the gas cap on and finish up the transaction.  Because the truck stop was virtually deserted, I didn't bother to pull my truck into a parking space first which is what I usually do out of courtesy.

I walked into the Pilot station, and there were a few truckers wandering around but the place really wasn't all that busy. 

I walked past the candy displays and the rack of sunglasses, searching eagerly for the restroom.  I found them and made my way there.  Once I arrived, I stopped cold.

Oh, no.  No, no, no, no.

A sign was taped to ever door in area.  The men's room, women's room and all of the shower stalls said the same thing.

"SORRY.  ROOM IS CLOSED DUE TO NO WATER."

When my husband says "I told you so." it makes me irritated.  But when a part of my body says it, I get scared.  Not only did my bladder say it, but he also laughed like the Joker in the original Batman movie after he asked for a mirror.

Great.  The rest of me is sane, but my bladder is batshit crazy.  "Maybe I should just pick up some diapers while I'm here", I thought.

I went and paid for the fuel, hoping that no one else could hear the insane laughter coming from my pants.  

While the cashier and I made the exchange, I asked why the water was out.  I kept my voice calm, but a bit louder than usual to cover up the bladder laughter.  

"They shut off the water main to work on it about an hour ago, and it won't be back up for a couple more hours according to them." she said with a sigh.  This must have been a question she had been asked since the water main was shut off.  I knew how that sort of thing can get old really quickly.

"Just this place is affected or..." I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Every place around here is without water.  They closed the restaurant across the street, won't open until the water is back on." she said and handed me my receipt.

The bladder laughter stopped suddenly, but instead of acceptance, I left a fart coming on.  

Great, now he is gathering forces in protest.  I needed to get the hell out of there.

I left, went outside, and got into my truck and began negotiations again.

Me:  You there?

AWBIMG:  Don't talk to me.  The only reason why have haven't exploded yet is because you are stronger than I expected.  But those days are numbered, my friend, and I can still cause you all kinds of pain.

Me:  Yes, I know, you are doing it now, but here is what is going to happen.  I want you to reset the timer.

AWBIMG:  You have 5 minutes.

Me:  No, that won't be enough.  There is a rest area on the other side of Terre Haute just beyond the Illinois border.  Give me till then.

AWBIMG:  You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Me:  Nope.  This is how it is.  I don't want to spend the next 20 minutes trying to find a place that will...

AWBIMG:  There is a trash can right there.  Use it.  I'll talk to Colon, you can make it sit down business.  You're happy, I'm happy, and it will teach the fuckers here a lesson...

Me:  I am not going to sit on a trash can and take a dump at a truck stop.  End of story.

AWBIMG:  No, end of chapter.  This isn't over.

Me:   Why do you fight me?

AWBIMG:  Anger issues.  You've always known this, douchebag.

I didn't waste any time getting back onto the freeway.  The truce I made with my bladder was shaky, but it was holding.  However, my bladder really did get Colon's attention and now he was starting to require my attention.  Colon and I aren't on speaking terms, mostly because I can't understand his thick accent.  The only way I can describe it is Drunken Klingon with Laryngitis. One thing was for certain, the minute Colon started making demands, there was no negotiations.  He was a shoot first, ask questions later kinda jerk.

My biggest fear at that point was that I was going to find "CLOSED" on the Rest Area exit sign, and I would have to just pull over and ruin a patch of grass.  There would be no avoiding that.  This time the timer was connected to explosives.

My fears were unfounded, and I soon found myself pulling into the Cumberland Road Rest Area, which was pretty busy.

I parked, hopped out, and immediately felt an urgency so strong that I almost froze.  At least, I would have if the time lost in that nanosecond might have ended the situation right there, only to create a new one.

The walk up to the building, through the door, and into the bathroom area was a blur.  The timer was almost out and this was going to be a photo finish.

A few minutes later, I was sitting in a stall and the situation was now under control, and I breathed a sigh of relief.  I found myself in the center stall of a really clean rest area.  I chose a stall because I had no idea what kind of surprises that were in store, which ended up being a good call.

I heard a noise to my right and realized that there was a gentleman occupying the stall next to me.  Outside the stalls, I could hear a young gentleman on his cell phone, an occurrence which never made much sense to me.  I am the type where once I enter a restroom of any type, my desire to strike up a conversation of any type is pretty much gone.

What peaked my interest about the guy talking on the cell phone was that he was speaking in very guttural Russian.  I could tell he was younger just by the sound of his voice, which had a "backwards record" sound to it.  I will admit that it is a language I have always wanted to learn.

Without warning, the guy in the stall to my right called out, "Hey!  We live in America, so talk English ya' fuckin' wetback!"  

No, really.  He said that.

This guy's voice was high pitched, dripping with irritation, with a drawl that could only come from the finest trailer royalty.

I only had a moment to process what had just occurred.  Living in a small city has given me insight into what happened.  See, the truly ignorant (not the ones who feign ignorance out of stubbornness, but people who really don't have a clue), don't take a lot of time to process a lot of information that is presented to them. The assumption that occurs to them is gospel, and they just go with it.  This asshole heard a language he didn't understand, and assumed it was something else.

There was a total, shocked silence which was long enough for me to think to myself, "This won't end well."

I heard footsteps and then the sound of a very angry Russian man shouting just outside the stall to my right.  At first, it was just yelling, then it was pounding as a fist started banging on the door.  The stall occupant then started yelling back about getting out of the country and something about Glenn Beck.  

I am not making that up.

Deciding that it was time to exit the scene, I began to prepare for a discreet exit.  I stood up, buckled up, and made for the exit, when something unexpected happened.

On the *other* side of the Ignorant Shitter, *another* man started banging on his stall wall and telling in Spanish. 

Uh-oh.  This scene just went from ugly to rancid, and I got the hell out of there.  The acoustics in there made the exchange deafening, and I expected my Colon to join in with some Drunken Klingon War chant.  Or something like that.

As I left, there was so much shouting and banging, that as when I walked out, there were three people looking at me as the cacophony burst into the foyer when I opened the door.  

I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, "I had nothing to do with that.  The smell either."

Okay, that last part might have been a lie.

Back in my truck, I started the engine, and took a moment to reflect what just happened.

AWBIMG:  Uh, hey.

Me:  Yeah?

AWBIMG:  Yeah, um, I was totally being a dick.  But you gotta understand...

Me:  Forget it.  It's over.  

AWBIMG:  I do wanna say that I'm glad I didn't miss that, so yeah, you were right to make me wait. 

Me:  I would have rather avoided that, actually, but I'm glad you are happy.

AWBIMG:  And I didn't mean it when I said your family was going to call you Shitty McPuddingPants.

Me:  I thought it was Stinky.

AWBIMG:  Whatever.  Can we go now?

I took one last look at the door to the rest area, half expecting the Bigot, the Russian and the Latino come rolling out in a barroom type brawl, but the afternoon was deceptively peaceful.

I put the rest area behind me and continued my trip, making a mental note that I would have to take better care of my timing so shit like this doesn't happen again.

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