The one thing you don’t want to do is mis-time your toilet breaks.
A couple of drinks and a chat with a fellow geek from New Zealand in the pub last night. We get up to leave.
Ahh, that was a nice drink. Nothing much going on just at the moment, says the bladder.
We part outside Flinders Street Station, he’s bound for the tram stop, I head for platform 6.
Well you could go now, but it’s not urgent, and the toilets here are usually a bit bleuch.
Ah! The train’s waiting there. Express, as well. Find a seat, dig out my copy of MX. … Train leaves, pulls into Spencer Street … Flagstaff …
Hey, you know, that was a lot of beer. That last one was rather big. You know how alcohol goes through the system. Might be nice to find a toilet.
… Melbourne Central… … Parliament …
There’s toilets at all these stations. Sure you don’t want to stop off and catch the next train? Oh, but you’d have to wait. And the next one wouldn’t be an express. Not far to home.
… Richmond … South Yarra …
You know you need to go. But it’s express now to Malvern. Then only a couple more stops to home. Maybe you can wait.
… express, express, express, Malvern …
Okay, you officially really need to go. I know, I know, there’s no toilet here. Hang on until Caulfield, then decide. Or just go home. Only… what.. two more stops? 4 minutes. Plus the walk home, about 8 minutes. You can last 12.
… Caulfield …
Yes, you’re busting, but you might as well hang on. Just one more stop then the walk.
We pull into Carnegie. I stand up and walk to the door and realise just how badly out of hand this has got.
Oh man, relief is needed fast. Maybe if it’s too much you can go behind a tree in the park next to the station.
Well that would hardly be very dignified, would it. Besides, the blindingly bright lights of the station ensure there is nowhere nearby where one’s actions can be obscured.
I walk along the street, attempting to exude confidence. But inside my bladder is crying; screaming.
You need to go! You need to go! You should have gone before! You should have gone before!
I reach my street. Not much further now.
Full full full full full full full full.
This is bad. I get out my keys. Have the front door key at the ready. Ah, there’s my car, parked on the street today, outside my house. (Long story).
Ah, at last. Almost there. At last.
Wait! It’s not my car. It’s someone else’s car, someone else’s house. Mine’s 30 metres further on.
Aarrrrrhgghghhhhhh
Get to my place, ignore the mailbox, fumble with the keys.
Hurry. Hurry.
Fumble, fumble. Open front door, go in, dump bag in hallway, walk briskly to the toilet.
Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh. Relief…..
11 replies on “Busting”
So was that dark miserable little toilet block near the keycutters at Carnegie locked?
Or failing that, if you were willing to be seen holding at Dandenong Rd, couldn’t you have gone at the Rosstown?
At least Exeloo has come to Koornang Park (just behind my favourite transmitting spot)!
I assumed that horrible toilet block would be shut at night. And even so, I think I’d prefer to wait.
I once caught the nightrider bus home and had to get out half way home to Carrum because of the same problem. I then got a taxi for the rest of the way, cost 30$. Most expensive pee ever!!
At least you hadn’t locked the keys in the house (trust me, its happened to me).
Why didn’t you just go out the window whilst riding on the train?
Oh, yes. I remember drinking with some mates in a Manchester pub before boarding the train to Buxton only to find that the toilet was out of order. That was a very painfull 80 minutes…….
Dear gutless anonymous person, quite apart from all the obvious answers regarding what is and isn’t acceptable behaviour in public, the train also had no opening windows.
Reminds me of a day at work some 25 years ago. I was making use of the cubicle facilities in the gents when I heard a couple of our management types, returning from a long lunch, come bustling in to the gents and line up at the trough. Then one, a very nice, slightly brash, ex-pat American was heard to exclaim, “Ahhhh!! And they say ‘Coke – The pause that refreshes’ …”
As a lad, one of the first footy matches I went to was at the old Richmond ground. Facilities were just a tin shed toilet down at the fence. I remember squeezing in there at half time with piss flying everywhere. Mind you, a lot of blokes didn’t bother; they just had a leak on the outside walls. At three-quarter time with the scores close I heard someone say “I’m going for a nervous piss.” Anxiety stokes it up alright.
Aargh, I have done that SO many times, I should know better. It usually goes:
* In pub, check watch, oops, next train is in 12 minutes, it takes 10 mins to walk to the station and there’s only one train an hour. Better go.
* Drain pint. Walk briskly to station thinking I’ll have a wee on the train (the trains I take have a toilet). Pressure is building.
* Toilet is occupied. Sit next to toilet, jiggling my legs. Wait. Wait more. Go find conductor who tells me it’s out of order. Starting to sweat.
* Tell myself I can hang on until home. Feel like when I do go it will reduce my weight by 1/2 a stone.
* Arrive at home station, walk briskly home, another 10 minutes.
Only once have I not managed it and had to wee behind a tree on the way home. Many times I’ve had to run the last few hundred metres…
Why didn’t you just piss in the train like everyone else?