Christina Benvegnu

J. Guevara

Week 3


Perks of Urination

The soles of my shoes are pounding on the concrete, matching the rhythm of my racing heart. Stopping is not an option; I have to get there. If I don't, the consequences will be dire.

I have to pee.

I drank too much liquid today and I can feel it all pressing down on my bladder, urging me to just make like a baby and wet myself. But my self-respect remains firm, and the race toward the bathroom ensues. My destination soon in sight, my speed picks up. Heaven is in my reach, and all those who get in my way, well, move. As I continue my pursuit of the porcelain glory, people materialize in my path. I mentally shriek for them to move, not wanting to resort to physical violence, and much like the parting of the red sea, minus the fleeing Israelites and rabid Egyptians, they all moved and I nearly wept with gratitude. I burst through the bathroom door, blind to everything except for one thing,


I lock the stall, yank down my skirt and underwear, and soon a symphony of urine occurs. Doves are flying, angels are singing halleluiah, and I swear Elvis is lurking somewhere in the mayhem. I moan in splendor, I have reached the Promise Land, thanks Jesus, you're beautiful, babe. And slowly the celebration dies down and reality drifts back to its rightful place. I finish my business, put my clothes to right, and open my stall door as the flushing noise echoes in the empty restroom. I cant believe my eyes, what stood before was something so horrifying, it sent Sara Palin crawling back to her moose. It was, a urinal.

A urinal? This is crazy; I must have lost my mind somehow. If it really is a urinal, I have to logically derive by the transitive property that I was not in the women's restroom, but the men's. And just when this embarrassment is finally revealed, the door begins to open. Sirens went off in my head, my brain screaming Mission Abort! Mission Abort! I rushed back into the stall, lock the door and quake in my little hot pink flats. Powerful large feet thump past my stall and into the stall at the end. A brief silence, and then tinkling fills the room. Here's my chance, I have to make a run for it. I rush out of the stall, but for some reason, little Miss Manners pauses my feverish escape and directs me to the sink. Damn my hygiene need! I reach for the tap and just as water began to pour, the toilet flushed. Curse men for peeing so quickly! I immediately begin formulating a plan. If I just act casual, maybe he won't notice me, and I can escape undetected, like a fly on a wall! I just need to act calm and cool, and like a Methodist actor would say, "You and the fly are one, live like the fly, Be the fly". So I continue to wash my hands, and quickly mutter a prayer "Dear God, please don't let him notice me, I promise to stop stealing my neighbors porn, Amen". Right when I whispered my last word, he turned the corner.

I quickly look down and continue to wash my hands. He walks over and soon his faucet begins running. So far so good, this acting bullshit worked, who knew? But then my complacent behavior was my biggest error. I stretched my hand for soap, just as he reached for it. I watched in slow motion as our hands collided, and he looked up into the mirror and caught my gaze. Only one word came to my mind, Shit. I stare into his eyes and see bewilderment, curiosity, and dare I say amusement? His mouth slowly opens and my mind is driven into a state of panic.

What is he thinking? What will he say? Gosh he's really cute… Stop thinking with your vagina, and focus please! What are you gunna say? Real simple 'I walked into the wrong bathroom'. What? That's stupid! You sound like a moron! But it's the truth! Who the hell tells the truth these days? Well if you just…Wait…What is he doing?!

I immediately snap back to attention to see the guy turning away from me, and continuing to wash his hands. He didn't say anything! He's choosing to ignore the fact that I am very much a woman and just let the matter drop. How sweet of him! Not making me feel embarrassed at all, just letting it go… unless… unless he thinks I'm secretly a man! Oh God, he's drying his hands off what do I do? Do I let this situation end? Let him continue believing that I am indeed a man? This, this Sex God will forever think I'm a man, crushing all dream like chances that I could have with him. I don't think so! And before common sense could kick in, or any of my previous self-respect I hear myself scream, "I don't have a penis!" The Sex God freezes. He slowly turns around, eyebrows raised, appraising me as if he's trying to figure out the meaning of my very being.

I try to formulate some kind of thought, try to explain to him the doves flying. The fact that I swear I saw Elvis. But all that could come out was a mumbled "sorry" as I shamefully looked to the ground. The Sex God didn't respond, and I tentatively looked up to see…nothing. He had vanished without a trace, taking with him hope, possibility, and my dignity. I sigh to myself, and gather my things, cursing myself. I mean honestly, who shouts I don't have a penis anyways? Seriously, its moments like this that I really do question my sanity. Looking on the Brightside of things, at least I get too keep my porn. As I open the door to escape my humiliation, I notice a torn piece of paper fall to the ground. I pick it up and walk over to the trashcan, and notice a messy scrawl. I look closer and read, "Dear Bathroom Girl, I get it." And underneath the message was a phone number scribbled below.

Within that split second, the angels and Elvis came bellowing back to life, and sunshine broke through the clouds! Well maybe there wasn't any sunshine. Okay fine it was raining, but so what? Much to my disgust, I giggled like a little girl and danced around. I quickly composed myself and continued on my way, smiling at anybody who looked my way. The perks of urination I laughed to myself, and quickly hurried along.