I've Been There, Too

Well, since I've borrowed two stories already today, here's one I thought cute/cool from a new blog I discovered and yes, it has a Jewish angle.

Anyway, I'm again digging into old experiences for this post. Alas, the following story has to do with peeing. Sorry, no pictures.

Sometime last winter I picked up these two orthodox Jewish women on Park Ave. When they told me they wanted to go to Midwood, Brooklyn, I was a little concerned. I already had to pee and this was going to be no short trip. I set out down the FDR, figuring I'd be able to hold it at least until I dropped them off, but, of course, there was traffic. By the time we got into Brooklyn, I was starting to sweat.

Driving became difficult. I was afraid I would have an accident in my jeans, and to prevent this, I began fantasizing about dropping the ladies off, pulling up to the closest parked cars I could find, and squatting in between them. The situation was so desperate, I no longer cared about things like privacy and safety and toilet paper. After directing me around the neighborhood for a while, the women finally told me to stop. But only one got out. The remaining woman told me I had to make another stop! Emergency! My bladder was threatening to spill over with exclamation points!

I pulled myself together while the second woman directed me to her house. But I began panicking again when she said things like, "Turn at the light." I was trying not to breathe, but was forced to unseal my lips to ask, "Turn to the left or the right?" "Oh, left." She kept doing that, telling me to just "turn," until we finally made it to her house. She paid me, tipped nicely, and said, "Do you want directions back?" I said, "No, actually, could you please tell me where I can find the closest public bathroom?" She paused for a second, I think realizing my state of emergency, and replied, "Do you want to come in?" Me: "Could I, really?" Her: "Yes, it's fine. I've been there. I know how it feels."

I parked and locked the cab, and followed her into the house. She pointed me toward the bathroom and, while I was passing the kitchen, I saw a man with a yarmulke sitting there. I didn't stop to say hi. When I entered the bathroom, it felt like the most glorious moment of my entire life. I nearly cried.

And when I left, I couldn't thank the woman enough. This was certainly the most generous tip anyone could have given me at the time. The whole way back to the city, I was filled with gratitude, mainly for the fact that I didn't pee in my pants, but also for the reminder that sometimes humanity can, indeed, be humane.