So — why am I sharing the tale of how I was stuck on the bus with an urgent need to relieve myself? Because it was one of the shittiest and scariest experiences — ever — and I have to believe that I’m not the only one that has been tasked with the assignment of keeping calm — under incredibly stressful circumstances.
I drink water as if my life depends on it — because it literally does. After spending the past two years pumping vodka into my veins — I decided to abandon the dream of La La Land — for the reality of Maryland.
It hasn’t been the easiest transition — but I’m slowly enjoying the freedom of dwelling in a town that doesn’t demand much of my time. Nothing really happens here and in order to get close to anything exciting — a lot of effort has to be expended — which in frigid temps — usually means a polite “no thank you.”
But — as the weather patterns begin to fight for authority — the warmer air makes its gradual appearance — and when that happens — you can’t help but explore.
And so I decided to ditch Uber and go for a bus ride. I was on a hunt for the items that I used to once be able to secure on foot — and because of my uncanny dependency on water — I made it a point to pee before heading out.
My precautionary measures ended up not working out too well. I found out the hard way after boarding the bus — and riding on it for long enough to realize that I was scoping out establishments that could potentially host my growing need to pee.
At first I ignored the urge by pretending it wasn’t happening. I convinced myself that my earlier trip to the bathroom had been more than adequate — and these spasms were just annoyingly wrong signals that would quickly disappear.
But — the more I tried to calm myself into levitating away from the panic brewing inside of me — the more it became clear that shit was about to go down — with or without my consent.
Each stop the bus made posed the question of whether I should get off or just stay put until I could reclaim my sanity and figure out how to get back home. The intensity of my need to pee overtook my ability to focus on my proposed journey — which put me in the worst case scenario of being lost with a bladder that was threatening to burst.
Funny things happen when desperation becomes your unwanted companion. Your mind does somersaults and expects you to remain very composed — despite the acrobatics rumbling inside of you.
I began to fantasize about instances where my nightmare evolved into the dream come true of getting off the bus and promptly choosing the McDonalds over Burger King for my peeing station. But then I would have to be in New York City.
Then I resorted to risky visualization — as I imagined myself letting the pee flow to counter the actual need I was frantically trying to overcome. That didn’t work too well. I ended up peeing for real — but only enough to wake me up.
By this time — I was absolutely heading in the wrong direction — as I looked out the window and noticed more homes than businesses. I began to slightly rock my body from side to side — to give the impression that I was responding to Janet’s Nasty — with an uncharacteristically guarded tempo.
That surprisingly provided some relief — as I maintained the movements while giving my mind over matter — permission to take hold — like a mandated possession that requires invisible dancers twerking around you — for the benefit of keeping that pee warm and cuddly — inside you.
I began to laugh a little and that helped even more — and so it was time to summon the discipline to exit the bus like a pro. I had to project someone lucky enough not to be trapped in a body that was about to explode — seconds earlier.
I asked the dancers if they wanted to come with me and they obliged. We all managed to get off in one piece — without the residue of the prior embarrassment and with the confidence that my slightly wet bottom wouldn’t drown.
My mind surpassed me as I accepted the Uber that arrived just when I was about to find a spot to squat my dignity away. The driver kept me occupied with his reasoning for why he thought I was Ghanaian instead of Nigerian.
Once I stepped inside the house — I bypassed my parents’ inquiries and entered the room that contained the throne of my immediate content.
But — once the door was closed and I began to fiddle with my garb — it hit me.
I played the game so well — that the joke was on me. I had impressively shocked my body into swallowing its own pee on command.
As I sat on the throne with my underwear on — I wondered if I could reverse my gray strands with that same trick. As I visualized my roots responding to my mental coloring — I started peeing.
Shit! I’m gonna need a shower afterwards.