After a lovely holiday in Spain with my sister, I spent one week back in Greenville before leaving again for Copenhagen. Work trip this time and by the last plane ride home, sitting in the very middle of a middle aisle, I was rather… done.
I hate peeing on an airplane. When I was younger (by younger, I mean 25) and flew, I would purposefully dehydrate myself on the flight to avoid a trip to the on-board bathroom. And the longer I wait, the longer I’m determined to wait. Like right now. Right now I’m like, “Man, I just survived six hours and I’m ok. I can make it two more.”
This verges on phobia, I think. Some undiagnosed, yet very real, bathroom anxiety. It’s not the bathroom itself, although you know those splatters on the floor are not water. It’s not the cramped space, the loud flush, the offensive odor resulting from 200+ people apparently missing their target. It’s not these things.
It’s the getting there. First, I either have to wake up this dude next to me, as he sleeps with his Bose headphones on. Or, and this is even better…. OR I hafta try to sneak over him, which is nearly impossible given his long, stretched-out legs and flip-up movie screen that sits above his thighs. And the guy just fell asleep. What an epic jackass I’m gonna look like when I wake up this poor guy as he just slips into oblivion. If I’d grown some balls 20 minutes ago, I could be reposing here with an empty bladder, listening to Fleet Foxes and watching the minute-to-minute flight data.
And really, once you get OUT of your own row, it’s no better. Everyone stares at you. I mean, I know they stare because when I see someone walk by, I stare. I almost feel sorry for the walkers-by, although this makes zero sense, I know. Like I look on them with a mix of pity and misplaced embarrassment. Oh, you have to go to the bathroom? How unfortunate.
Maybe if I bump his elbow he’ll wake. I’d really try the sneak-over manuever, but I know my own physical limitations and chances are, I’m going to be caught mid-sneak, legs straddling his and hands braced on his armrests. While that’s clearly hot, it’s quite less so when A) it’s a stranger and B) said stranger is aware you’re on your way to relieve the bowels.