Peeing In The "Woods"

Have you ever been on a long drive and really had to take a wizz?

We've all been there, many of us may have even pulled to the side of the road, found a hidden spot and let nature take it's course. I can count myself amongst those that have pulled to the side of the road to take a leak.

Sometimes, hard as we may try, we're not always as hidden as we believe.

I used to visit my friend, Danny, every weekend. He lived fifty miles from me, so getting there always took a little over an hour. Often we'd head out around lunch time, so on the way, we'd all get hungry and agree to get fast food.

As usual, I got a burger and a drink, a large drink - large, at least, compared to the size of a human bladder. When it comes to drinking, I'm like a camel in that I drink a lot, but I'm not like a camel in that I can't store it. Camels can drink gallons of water and then go days without drinking because they can store it in the hump on their back. I can drink gallons of water and then go minutes without peeing, but pretty soon it'll catch up to me.

Well, I wolfed down my burger and practically inhaled my entire beverage and sat quite content. When you drink fast, all of your beverage can go through quite quickly and since most beverages are liquid and liquids are digested in 15-20 minutes, whatever you drink will hit your bladder pretty soon.

Now, I mentioned that the trip takes a little over an hour, so you can easily see that 15 minutes is only a small segment of that - a fraction of the time. Having downed the whole beverage quickly, it all hit me at once.

When we got to be about ten minutes or so from my friend's house, I couldn't hold it any longer. I demanded that my mom pull off at the nearest curb that was located next to the woods and I would go relieve myself behind a tree.

After what felt like forever, we finally pulled off into the shoulder of a street we were on and I jumped out of the car and dashed for the woods. I wasn't too picky about what tree I would use, just anything about as thick as me and maybe fifty feet in would do.

All I could focus on was urination and holding back that urination till I found a tree. Being so unaware of my surroundings is what lead to a rather embarrassing situation that I will describe soon.

I found a tree, maybe ten rows of trees in, that would cover me from the road and I unzipped and let waves of relief wash over me as I gave my drink back to nature. When I was just about finished, I shook out the last drops and began to zip up my pants.

Suddenly, from my right, I hear a voice yelling. It's an old man, exiting his house, cane in hand, scolding me.

"How would you like it if I went to your house and peed on your lawn?" the old man yells.

I'm going to break here to tell you a little about where I lived at this time, so you can appreciate what I was imagining when this guy yelled that.

I lived in a highly populated sub-urban town of 40,000 people. I lived on the second floor of a two-family house on one of the five most popular roads. My front yard was small, maybe 10 feet by 10 feet and is clearly visible by anyone and everyone who drives on the road, which on any given day, during most hours when the sun is out, will mean several hundred people in the space of five minutes.

So, as this guy is yelling at me, I am running as fast as my little legs can take me (I'm around twelve or so at the time) and imagining this elderly man, whipping out his tinkler on my front lawn, exposing himself to hundreds of passersby as he just pees gingerly on my lawn.

He waves his cane at me when I turn back to see if he's gaining on me at all (he isn't moving much faster than a turtle). I yell to my mom to open the side door of the mini-van as I come sprinting at it.

My sister hurls it open just in time for me to dive in and shout for my mom to step on it.

The old man never did pee on my lawn to my knowledge, though I'm sure it would've been the talk of the town for some time if he did. Every time since then that I go to Danny's house, I pass that old man's place and think of when I peed on his lawn.

Poke Me

I own a shirt, in fact I own many shirts, but there's one specifically I want to focus on. It's blue, similar in color to jeans (dark wash), but soft. On it is the Pillsbury doughboy in a classic pose. If you can't remember what the Pillsbury doughboy is, he's that little white animated figure with a chef's hat, a big grin and a bit of a tummy - in short, look at this picture:

He's the one getting poked if you couldn't put that together.

Anyway, the shirt reads, in big white letters above the picture, "Poke Me" and so we get to the crux of our story. Last year I lived in dorms at another school and one day I wore this shirt.

I am fond of the shirt, I enjoy the fit, the feel and the fabric's colors (blue and white). Since I'm fond of it, I wear it often. I have a number of shirts, many with clever slogans or something or other written on them and so as the days blend and carry on, I always forget what shirt I am wearing. It is crucial to remember that I always forget the shirt that I'm wearing.

On this particular day I'm wearing the shirt and I'm in my dorm, hungry. Next door there is a mini-store/dining hall where I can get $7.50 worth of stuff at each meal, except breakfast ($5.50 at breakfast). It was nearing the end of the lunch time so I wanted to get over next door and get my money's worth before I lost the opportunity and it became dinner time and I'd miss out on the $7.50 for lunch.

It was a bit of a dreary day, it had rained earlier, but even so I went out, in my shirt, a pair of jeans or possibly pajama bottoms, flip flops and socks (I know that they don't go together but darn it I like warm feet!). 

My feet look kinda like that except the flip flops are white with a blue design on it and the green thing on that is black on mine. I know what you're thinking: that's definitely the next trend in fashion.

As I walk in next door I get a compliment on my shoes, I thank the person and go to the room where all the food is. I pick out a half personal pie of pizza, a bag of Baked Dorito chips and a drink, probably Fuze. I go to the checkout and since I always have the same combo, I know that it comes out to $7.43 or something in that ballpark. 

The food service lady compliments me on my incredible power of picking out four items to total so closely to my limit (as happens every day, with that same lady) and I head back out of the building.

I'm holding my food and push open the door as I leave and a group of three guys is standing off a little to my left, on the grass. As I pass by one of them looks up.

Suddenly he charges me.

I'm cradling a bunch of food in my hands and I don't know what to do. I tell myself that I'll always be prepared if someone tries to mug me and that I'll miraculously be endowed with incredible strength, agility and reflexes and easily take care of the attacker, but in this instance I stood completely petrified.

I didn't budge, I just watched my assailant fly at me with his arm extended. In the blur of action I didn't notice but he had a finger extended towards me which soon finds contact with my stomach, near my solar plexus (ie pain).

I cringe and he jumps back laughing. 

"I had to do it," he says, "man."

Had to do it? Had to do what? Inflict pain and bestow terror on a random guy who passes him?

I didn't know what to think. In my confusion I looked down and remembered the shirt I was wearing.

"Poke Me" - apparently I had asked for this. I brought this on myself.

Now whenever there are "poking" wars on facebook, all I can think of is that crazy kid, I didn't know, charging at me arm extended, jabbing me right in the stomach.

By the way, when I realized, I gave him the trademark giggle of the Pillsbury doughboy, got a laugh out of them and then I retreated to my room to nurse my battle wound and eat. I still wear this shirt, often and get pokes (get confused at first), but nothing so drastic - fortunately.