Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Urine my seat
I have to relate a story to you that happened to me a couple of days ago, and I’m not going to lie to you, but I suffered just a little bit of trepidation when it came to deciding whether to tell the story or not. Seeing as I’ve taken no qualms with laughing at myself before, I came to the decision that I might as well take the plunge for pure entertainment purposes. So sit back, relax and enjoy my very special C-train ride home.
This occurred last Thursday as I left work early. I tried, oh how I tried to talk myself into being well, but the amount of drippings escaping my nostrils and the bees crawling around on the back of my eyes indicated that I was in no way, shape or form healthy enough to brave the golf lesson that I was supposed to be at in four hours. With a heavy heart I left work around two in the afternoon with prospects of lying in my bed until I felt better. Further thoughts of Nyquil and Neocitrin lured me towards the LRT station, pure will forcing my feet to step one in front of the other in a straightish line. I made it and only had to wait a minute or two for the train to arrive.
Usually I leave the office around 4:30pm, and when I get to the train there’s standing room only. Since it was earlier in the afternoon I hoped dearly that a seat would be available since most people would look unkindly at my lying on the floor. I was in luck! A three seater bench had only one occupant and I was the second one to enter the door of the train. When facing the bench, there was an elderly woman on the right, the gentleman getting on before me took the left leaving the middle for me. I took my place…
However, with my momentum going towards the cushioned seat, I just happened to notice a slight discoloration in the area my buttocks were heading towards. It was too late, though. I was already seated. That’s when I noticed a certain pungent smell, and I recalled that a father had gotten off the train with his two very young daughters before I entered the train. I’ve just sat in someone’s pee, I thought.
I entertained the paradox. Should I get up and expose my soaked bottom to the many, many passengers on the C-train, or do I sit and wait for my stop which is the last on the line? I leaned towards the latter since I could read my book, or attempt to anyway, and take my time putting it away while the rest of the passengers got off the train thus sparing myself a huge amount of embarrassment by not exposing my backside.
I could feel the backs of my legs getting colder.
I didn’t want to reach down and touch my pants; the saving grace being that I hadn’t gotten any urine on my hands. I remembered the gentleman beside me looking at the discoloration before I sat down and quietly cursed him for not warning me before I seated myself. What a great guy he must be! I also did the same with regards to the lady to my left as she could have said something. She was on the train before we were.
Every jostle the train delivered to its passengers caused me to shift from side to side thus giving sections of my pants that were previously moisture free a chance to see what it was like on the underside. I held my book in front of me while I quietly retched.
There were eight stops in total till mine, and I quietly prayed that either the lady or the man beside me would be getting off way before then. That way I could at least slide over to either side and save myself acting like a sponge for a few minutes. I vowed that when I did this I would warn any other passenger who wanted to take a load off their feet. No one deserved this, I thought. Well, maybe the man and woman did for not warning me, but I also told myself that I should always look before I sit. It’s more my fault than anyone else’s. I was sure teaching myself a harsh lesson.
Another bump reminded me of the cold, wet feel on the backside of my legs. I hoped beyond hope that my wallet was safe.
I thought of my car. How was I going to drive my car? I actually entertained the idea of disrobing, taking off my pants before entering my vehicle. I’d rather that than have a child’s urine smelling up the Sunfire on a very hot day. I had my jacket in my bag, so I told myself that I would lay it down as best I could, sit on it and then throw the jacket and my pants in the washer right away once I got home. I promised myself a very long shower, as well.
This sucked!
We pulled into my station, the loud speaker thanking us all for riding Calgary Transit and that this was the final destination. Luck was definitely not on my side as the lady and gentleman did not exit the train until the very last stop. What were the odds? So I slowly closed my book and looked around as people exited to the station. I put my book into my shoulder bag while wishing that this whole thing was just a figment of my over active imagination.
Everyone had gone from my section of the train, so I looked out the window to make sure there wasn’t too much foot traffic at the terminal. Unfortunately, people had also gotten on the train which would soon be heading downtown, so they’d get a good look at my urine soaked bum.
I got up slowly, turned towards the train doors and couldn’t help myself. My left hand reached down to the back of my pants to feel how bad it was. I also contorted myself to get a look.
Nothing!
I was dry! I saw no discoloration, and I felt completely dry. It had all been in my head. I thought of the dark area I saw on the seat before I sat down and just chalked it up to years of use. I thought of the odor I smelt and attributed it to the many different bodies that enter and exit the train each hour. I had completely convinced myself that I had a wet backside, and, as a result, my miserable ride brought on by my miserable condition was made all that more miserable.
What’s the moral? The mind is a powerful thing, but it is also very susceptible to suggestion and flights of fancy. I've booked more air time on those flights than most of my friends combined. What I am not saying, though, is that you don’t need to check where you sit. Always look before you sit! Always! You never know, but someday someone might leave you an unwelcome treat that doesn’t blend well with 100% cotton.
This occurred last Thursday as I left work early. I tried, oh how I tried to talk myself into being well, but the amount of drippings escaping my nostrils and the bees crawling around on the back of my eyes indicated that I was in no way, shape or form healthy enough to brave the golf lesson that I was supposed to be at in four hours. With a heavy heart I left work around two in the afternoon with prospects of lying in my bed until I felt better. Further thoughts of Nyquil and Neocitrin lured me towards the LRT station, pure will forcing my feet to step one in front of the other in a straightish line. I made it and only had to wait a minute or two for the train to arrive.
Usually I leave the office around 4:30pm, and when I get to the train there’s standing room only. Since it was earlier in the afternoon I hoped dearly that a seat would be available since most people would look unkindly at my lying on the floor. I was in luck! A three seater bench had only one occupant and I was the second one to enter the door of the train. When facing the bench, there was an elderly woman on the right, the gentleman getting on before me took the left leaving the middle for me. I took my place…
However, with my momentum going towards the cushioned seat, I just happened to notice a slight discoloration in the area my buttocks were heading towards. It was too late, though. I was already seated. That’s when I noticed a certain pungent smell, and I recalled that a father had gotten off the train with his two very young daughters before I entered the train. I’ve just sat in someone’s pee, I thought.
I entertained the paradox. Should I get up and expose my soaked bottom to the many, many passengers on the C-train, or do I sit and wait for my stop which is the last on the line? I leaned towards the latter since I could read my book, or attempt to anyway, and take my time putting it away while the rest of the passengers got off the train thus sparing myself a huge amount of embarrassment by not exposing my backside.
I could feel the backs of my legs getting colder.
I didn’t want to reach down and touch my pants; the saving grace being that I hadn’t gotten any urine on my hands. I remembered the gentleman beside me looking at the discoloration before I sat down and quietly cursed him for not warning me before I seated myself. What a great guy he must be! I also did the same with regards to the lady to my left as she could have said something. She was on the train before we were.
Every jostle the train delivered to its passengers caused me to shift from side to side thus giving sections of my pants that were previously moisture free a chance to see what it was like on the underside. I held my book in front of me while I quietly retched.
There were eight stops in total till mine, and I quietly prayed that either the lady or the man beside me would be getting off way before then. That way I could at least slide over to either side and save myself acting like a sponge for a few minutes. I vowed that when I did this I would warn any other passenger who wanted to take a load off their feet. No one deserved this, I thought. Well, maybe the man and woman did for not warning me, but I also told myself that I should always look before I sit. It’s more my fault than anyone else’s. I was sure teaching myself a harsh lesson.
Another bump reminded me of the cold, wet feel on the backside of my legs. I hoped beyond hope that my wallet was safe.
I thought of my car. How was I going to drive my car? I actually entertained the idea of disrobing, taking off my pants before entering my vehicle. I’d rather that than have a child’s urine smelling up the Sunfire on a very hot day. I had my jacket in my bag, so I told myself that I would lay it down as best I could, sit on it and then throw the jacket and my pants in the washer right away once I got home. I promised myself a very long shower, as well.
This sucked!
We pulled into my station, the loud speaker thanking us all for riding Calgary Transit and that this was the final destination. Luck was definitely not on my side as the lady and gentleman did not exit the train until the very last stop. What were the odds? So I slowly closed my book and looked around as people exited to the station. I put my book into my shoulder bag while wishing that this whole thing was just a figment of my over active imagination.
Everyone had gone from my section of the train, so I looked out the window to make sure there wasn’t too much foot traffic at the terminal. Unfortunately, people had also gotten on the train which would soon be heading downtown, so they’d get a good look at my urine soaked bum.
I got up slowly, turned towards the train doors and couldn’t help myself. My left hand reached down to the back of my pants to feel how bad it was. I also contorted myself to get a look.
Nothing!
I was dry! I saw no discoloration, and I felt completely dry. It had all been in my head. I thought of the dark area I saw on the seat before I sat down and just chalked it up to years of use. I thought of the odor I smelt and attributed it to the many different bodies that enter and exit the train each hour. I had completely convinced myself that I had a wet backside, and, as a result, my miserable ride brought on by my miserable condition was made all that more miserable.
What’s the moral? The mind is a powerful thing, but it is also very susceptible to suggestion and flights of fancy. I've booked more air time on those flights than most of my friends combined. What I am not saying, though, is that you don’t need to check where you sit. Always look before you sit! Always! You never know, but someday someone might leave you an unwelcome treat that doesn’t blend well with 100% cotton.
