My Brooklyn Bathroom

Discomfort rating;

Recently I had to drive from New Jersey to LaGuardia airport. (I didn't make the travel arrangements, a mistake I won't make in the future.) I had all day to make the 54 mile trip. Gertrude Personnaire Sillyvoice, mostly known as GPS, chose a route requiring me to drive into Jersey City across the Pulaski bridge through the Holland tunnel into Manhattan, The Bronx, Brooklyn, possibley Queens, and finally to the airport.

Discomfort Rating:

Somewhere in Jersey City I began to notice that maybe I should think about a bathroom in the next hour or so. I did a mental note of how much I drank recently. Oh Crap! A bottle of water and two coffees in the past three hours!

Not to give away too much information about my bladder functions, but I am usually ok for hours at a time. In May I did 15 hours in the middle seat of a flight from Dubai to Atlanta and only needed to get up once and that was voluntary. In June, I rode 1535 miles in 23.31 hours on a motorcycle stopping only for fuel and timing my bathroom stops with the fuel stops. Suffice it to say that bladder stops are usually not on my radar.

Discomfort rating:

As I was crossing the Polaski bridge (Look at all the WATER), approaching Jersey City things suddenly ramped up, now I was getting decidedly uncomfortable. Not squirming quite yet, but certainly aware of the problem. All the exits in Jersey City had lines of cars leading down from the expressway. The last thing I need now is to get caught in a traffic jam in this condition. Ok, the Holland Tunnel is not too far away, I will find a spot in Manhatten. There has to be a gas station or MCD's along the way. Right?

Holland Tunnel, I hope this is not crowded because I am gonna be in trouble if it is.

Going down into the tunnel was smooth sailing, coming back out was different. Stop and go traffic for the last mile or so until we finally saw light again. Just how deep was the WATER above the tunnel?

Discomfort Rating:

The loop and roads after the exit of the Tunnel was typical big city traffic, waiting for two or three cycles before getting through a light. Left turns done on the red light. Elbowing your way through the throngs of cabs and delivery trucks. Normally I enjoy this sort of thing. Not today. I was on an island surrounded by WATER

As I approached the East river to cross the Williamsburg bridge into Brooklyn, I knew I was in real trouble. I was starting to squirm now. Oh, look, more WATER.  As I am looking for a suitable exit I continue to notice the exit ramps are backed up to the expressway! Doesnt matter any more, I need to take the next one! The next exit is Queen Blvd, I think. I don't care what the name is, I am frantically looking for a gas station. And not seeing any!!WTF? Don't these people buy gas and use bathrooms? Suddenly I remember that Gertrude knows were all the stations are. I punch up service stations and pick the closest one, a BP which is 0.3 miles away. Turn left, up a block then left again, then three blocks then right, then right. How can 0.3 miles have so many stoplights?!

Discomfort Rating;

I could not sit still if I wanted to. Each stoplight is a lifetime of pain as I rock back an forth behind the wheel desperately looking for a secluded tree or bush. Nothing! Nothing but people, fences, buildings and stoplights. 

There it is!! At last, that beautiful green and white BP sign! Only two more stoplights and the second one is green. Salvation at last!

Then,  panic!! As I pull into the lot I realize this is not big enough for a bathroom. This is a one person brick cubical with bullet proof glass and bars on everything. I ask the oriental attendent if there is a bathroom somewhere. In broken english she politely explains, “No bathroom!” I plead a bit and say this is sort of an emergency and where does she go? More emphatically this time she says “No bathroom!”

I am literally hopping around now. I frantically, desperately, look around for anything. Restaurants!! Across the way I see two of them, I can buy lunch and leave it if I have to. I get in the car and race out into the street without stopping. The resturants are both closed, of course it is only 10:30 am.

Shit!! Now what? I am physically pinching it off now. I try not to race as I drive up and down sides streets looking for a ball field, cemetary, inviting bush, anything!

Defcon 5

!

All reason and sanity are slipping away now. My entire world is centered around a bladder that wants to explode inside my body. My motions are becoming frantic, judgement has packed up and left the building, modesty was not far behind. What kept me from stopping in the middle of the street was the numerous police cars I kept seeing. The thought of spending any time at all in a holding cell was enough to keep a small amount of dignity.

Look, a driveway without a car or a gate. There are a few bushes around back, it looks hidden from view!

I pulled into the driveway and looked at the concrete slab that was their yard. The bushes were growing out of the sidewalk.

In a burst of inspiration I grabbed an empty Taco Bell cup out of the back seat, ripped the cover off and flung it into the back seat. I ambled into the extremely tiny back porch area noting, thankfully, that there was stuff back there. I really dont remember much of what was back there, but it was blocking the neighbors view quite well.

I unzipped and frantically rooted around trying to get “it” out.

I have been living with “it” for all my life. Used mostly for utility and sometimes for fun, “it” has never refused to come out. (Maybe on that day we went swimming in Lake Superior, but normally this is not an issue.)

Ultimately “it” did come out, and I started to fill a Taco Bell cup. 

The relief was unbelievable, ecstatic, bliss, fantastic! I started to worry when the cup was like ¾ full and there was no sign of slowing down! I started to look around for another suitable container; a few flower pots, a bag of something, rolled up carpet, nothing acceptable. I finally shut it down at about 7/8 full. There was a bit left, but I would survive to find another bathroom.

Comfort level and dropping

I can't get my  damp zipper back up with one hand so I balanced the cup on top of a plastic garden shed, the kind one would buy at Lowe's or Home Depot. The roof is not quite flat so I spend a few seconds balancing it.

As I slowly become aware of my surroundings again, I noticed another small oriental women from across the street moving toward my car with a curious/concerned look on her face. I notice my car is not parked completely in the driveway as the back wheels are on the sidewalk and the bumper is out in the road.

Also, this not a neighborhood where new rental cars are commonly seen. Or large white guys skulking around behind buildings.

Comfort level:

Where are my keys? I start looking for them, found in back pocket. Okay, not locked in car, whew! 

Oriental lady is advancing across the narrow street now, I need to move fast and not attract attention. At least not be memorable. Keeping my head down as if studying my phone and trying to look puzzled, I get in the car, back out, and put distance between me and this neighborhood.

Not long and I was back on the expressway heading towards the airport.

About that time I remembered the Taco Bell cup. I left it setting on top of a sketchy looking LowesDepot garden shed. The first hint of a bump and 23 ½ ounces of urine would be pouring onto someone.

I considered going back, I really did. I don't think I could find the place again. When I returned home I failed to find the BP station on Google Earth, it took me a long time just to find the exit.

In closing, I really don't know what to say. My dad would have shrugged and said, “you should have planned better.” He is correct, there were maybe other options that day. I did what seemed right for me at the time.