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Sunday, September 26, 2004

Where's a good old outhouse when you need one?

Ok, I have to warn you, this post is a bit...ehem...personal. But I found it funny, so here goes.

My husband plays hockey Sunday mornings. There are three time slots (6 teams): 7:50 am, 9:00 am and 10:10 am. I am the time keeper for the league, so I have to be there for all games. His game today was the middle game, so being the nice man that he is, he came with me early to the arena and sat through the first game in the stands.

I am NOT a morning person. So I had two big travel thermoses of coffee with me. Coffee is like beer: you only rent it.

So, at the end of the first game, while they are cleaning the ice for the 2nd game, I go round to the ladies room and, as my mother would say, have myself a tinkle. Then I go back round to the time keepers booth and wait for the next game, and it starts.

The game was incredibly lopsided. They were playing 2 @ 18 minute periods, and as time keeper I am bound to my little booth. Every whistle, every goal, every penalty, I have to stop the clock, restart when they go, and record all the info - who's in the penalty box, when did he start, what did he do, who scored and who assisted, etc and so forth. I have to pay close attention. And for those who don't know hockey well, the time is what they call stop time - 18 minute periods can take 45 minutes to play if there are enough stoppages.

The first period was fine. However, with about 10 minutes left on the clock in the second period, and the score about 5-1 for my husband's team, I really really had to pee.

Have you ever noticed that when you've really got to go and are unable to due to circumstances, that all you can think about is that pressure in your bladder? I tried standing up - nope, that just increased the pull of gravity. I tried cross-legged - the pressure on the bladder was worse. So, I ended up doing a kind of swaying seated snake charmers dance in the booth, trying not to think about how close I was to peeing my pants. I mean, it was getting painful.

The thing that was making things difficult is that at this point in the game, there was a flurry of goals and penalties and pucks shot out of the area of play (which stops the play) and shots on net that the goalie smothers (which stops the play). This meant that the remaining 10 minutes was taking about twice that. I was just DYING to pee.

Finally, when the score 9-2, the one referree gave me the signal to run the clock (there was little hope the other team could make up that deficit with 2 minutes left). I was so grateful to that man in the striped shirt: my urinary bliss would soon be at hand.

The buzzer went and the game was done. Regulations require that I get the referrees signature on the official game sheets and give copies to members of each time. I left the sheet in the ref's care, saying "PLEASE sign this on your own....if I don't pee now I'm going to explode!" and I ran full tilt round the edge of the rink. I almost took out two full grown men in the process who happened to be in my way.

I skidded round the corner through the door to the ladies room and slammed the stall door shut.

Now, about mid season (January) last year, the arena they play in did major renovations, including the bathrooms. They installed these really funky new toilets that are all the rage with the light sensor that produces an automatic flush when you're ostensibly done your business.

Well, I sat and did my business: I had to pee so bad it almost hurt to do so. But then there was the enormous sign of relief (anyone else in the bathroom must have thought I was doing something a little more intimate than going pee from the sound). And in mid pee, the sensor decided that I had taken enough time and started to flush.

(Warning - this is kinda personal and potentially rude depending upon your sensibilities)

The suction of the flush while I was still doing my business was so intense it was like someone had turned a fan on down there. Very unpleasant and unusual feeling. But I still had more of my business to complete (I told you - I had to pee VERY badly). And I guess the sensor thought I needed a reminder again, and flushed immediately after the first time. And it contined to do so during my clean up and my readjusting my clothes. It just wanted me gone. I could have sworn that red laser eye was winking at me: be gone, ye coffee-filled wench. We've no need of your type here.

Bossy old toilet.

At what point did we decide we have far too much exercise and decision making in our lives and we need the simplest of functions automated for us?

All I know is next week I'm going in armed: I'll dodge the laser eye with a plunger flake and knock it senseless with its own toilet paper holder. Then we'll see who's boss.


Blogger Becky said...
LOL! Having to pee like that is the worst! I always start picturing the hoover dam or niagara falls. it's like i can't resist torturing myself. :)  

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