THe FReCKLeD FINGeR

    Yesterday was the Saturday before St. Patty's Day, which is on a Monday this year, which is terrible.  Not so much terrible for me but terrible for the people in America who actually work jobs.  Me not working a job at 23 years old is also a terrible thing.  Well yesterday was a day where I had the entirety of the day to drink away the blues of being a borderline homeless man.  Not only did the realization of my situation come to light, but I also discovered my inability to urinate in public places.  I've only ever had this problem once, and that was in an incredibly over-crowded Philadelphia Eagles men's room... where the man at the urinal next to and also the man waiting behind you - their total distance from me equals no more than 3 feet.

    Yesterday was a different story altogether though.  I had the opportunity to only have 1 other guy in the bathroom with me, 3 when the occasional drunkard would come and pee in the sink.  I COULD NOT DO IT.  I would do the usual shake and zip up just to show the other guys in the bathroom that I went and there was nothing wrong with my plumbing.  OK, no big deal, I will just get back in the 20 minute line and just try again.  So I make my way all the way back to the front of the line and enter the bathroom when another guy exits.  Some douche starts to talk to me when we are peeing.  Hey, I am a friendly guy and love 'small-talk' just as much as any other gabby girl... but come 'on.  Not here.  Not now.  I can't go again.  Now it is getting painful.  And worse, I hear from the resident 'nurse' in the group I am talking to that not peeing can cause Urinary Tract Infections.  WHAT!  Now my health is involved.  And the most frustrating thing about this whole ordeal is that it is something I can completely control.  I just cannot pee.

    I always thought the term 'bladder shy' was just the term last used by a guy before he tells his parents he is a homosexual.  Could I really be 'bladder shy'?  It is even uncomfortable to say aloud.  I feel like I should throw a purse over my shoulder before I say it.  So now I have to get creative.  The woman's room is right next store and they have stalls.  Bingo!  The bathroom attendant is a black woman complaining about her tips, so maybe I can buy her off and use a stall.  No problem, after slip her 5 of my last $20, she lets me in.  I don't think any girls saw me go in, so the brilliance of my plan will only work if I sit when I pee, so no other girls will catch on that I am a guy.  After about 5 minutes, I come to terms that this is not working either, and now I have created a traffic jam.  I can hear their anger build:

GIRL 1:  'Is someone in that stall?' 

GIRL 2:  'Yea, I think she is shitting.'

GIRL 1:  'Well, sometimes you have to shit.'

GIRL 3:  'She has been in there for like 10 minutes, knock on the door.'

GIRL 1:  'Honey, are you OK?"

ME :  (an attempt at a female voice)  'Yea.'

GIRLS 1-5:  'What?!  I think there is a guy in there!'

BATHROOM ATTENDANT:  'What?!'  Mutha F*cka, get outta here!  Get outta my bathroom and tip my ass!'

    She then began to spray over and under the stall door with the Lysol can until I exited the stall.  She continued to escort me out of the bathroom by the shirt in front of the majority of the bar patrons, like I was a young child caught snooping in the girl's bunk at summer camp.  No big deal.  Big deal - I HAVE YET TO PEE.  

    I left the bar, without a stamp, and sought refuge in a nearby alley.  Ahhhhhhh.