"Pee"

Another foray from back inna day. If memory serves, I fancied myself as the next Louie Grizzard, weaving my daily adventures of life onto the printed page. Alas, I was not privy to ascend the throne. Here's "Pee" which is submitted for your approval and perusal. Seems, in hindsight, I had a thing for one word titles:

I was riding down the road the other day listening to the AM radio station and cruising in my 98 when the low fuel light came on unexpectedly. That distinctive chime I’ve heard so many times. I never like to buy gas ahead of time. Only at the last minute. On anything, really. From clothes to shoes to petrol. I’m just like that. In a way it’s a curse. I’ll run out of gas maybe once a year. The last time being the worst.

It was winter. The first artic blow had just descended on Pond Jovi. Those cold Canadian winds were breezing their way through the city, as I was heading home from a grueling day at work. Murphy’s Law was about to be acted out on Golden Pond Interstate when my motorized vehicle went kaput. I was in the van [ my old Street Van by Dodge-see Lee Iacocca who disavowed the lineage, which probaby got a kool and the gang 10 miles per gallon ] which had no chime. I don’t know if they had such a thing in 1977. Stranded a mile from the nearest exit and the wind chill factor had to be a minus 100.

I walked the mile sometimes running. Dejected, depressed and mumbling expletives that froze in the air, I finally made it to a motel at the end of the ramp. I called Kitty to come get me. That’s always the hardest part. Calling the wife to let her know you screwed up again.

“Come get me,” I said trying not to sound wimpy. “I did it again.”

The motel was full of undesirable types ranging from druggies to prostitutes. I talked to the security guard as I waited for Kitty. He told me various horror stories about life in the motel. The 98 with my family in tow soon pulled up. I was safe again.

Anyway back to the original story. Me and the 98 were purring down the road when the chime made its melodic sound. Even though the car has about 5 gallons in the tank at the chime's first sounding, I don’t take as many chances as I used to, especially in the winter. It was the end of summer this time so I must be getting better. I pulled into the station and proceeded to pump the gas. $1.38 a gallon. What happened to the good old days when Ethyl was around a $1.00 a gallon? Please see Suddam Hussein.

I had just enjoyed a chicken sandwich, two cole slaws, french fries and an extra large coke. I had to pee something fierce.

“Where’s the bathroom?,” I asked the attendant. I had the gas pumping on automatic engage.

She hesitated for a minute. “Uh, we don’t have one.”

I guess she pees in her pants and carries a diaper for the big one. Or has her own private bathroom.

It galls me no end to buy gas and not be able to use the bathroom. I was tempted to go around to the side of the building or find some grassy spot [ noll ] and let my pee fly. I was not quite in an emergency situation but I was getting close.

I walked back out to the car. The automatic pilot had stopped at $6.48. The tank would hold much more. I tried to restart it. Luckily it wouldn’t. I wanted to call out to the lady to start the process again but then common sense took over. I don’t want to patronize a place that has no bathroom for its customers. I paid the bill and drove across the street.

Jay was of foreign descent. The gas pump was once again on automatic pilot.

“Where’s the bathroom, Jay?” I asked. He pointed. “Outside or inside?”

“Inside.” Jay wasn’t very talkative.

I mosied to the corner of the convenience store and tried to open the door but it was jammed. I pushed harder but the john was occupied. A lady employee was taking a dump or pee.

Suprised I could only manage, “Sorry about that sports fans!”

Soon she was through. [ squeezing her sponge ( couldn't help the ad lib ) ] I thanked Jay and paid the $14.00 vowing never to go to a place that sells gas and has no bathroom.

I cranked the car. The needle zoomed to full. The chime was silent. The AM radio came on loud and clear. Kathy Fishburger was laughing hysterically about something funny she had said. I put the car on automatic pilot waiting for the next chime alert, and, of course, the body was on alert, too, waiting for the next nature alert.