PEE & POO
It’s downright reprehensible for a city of several million citizens—or any city for that matter—to fail to provide the means for it’s populace to do what every dog in this city can do freely anytime its out with its owner. Though I certainly don’t advocate public dispersion of personal waste, it’s ridiculous the strategy one has to develop when a bathroom is desperately needed. You can shop until you’re the bottom of your wallet falls out but you can’t empty your bladder or bowels without it often being a total hassle.
I drink on average about five liters of water a day, and eventually it needs to go somewhere. Tonight while shopping down on 6th Avenue I was confronted with just such a situation, a desperate one in fact. Shopping can be terrifying when you’re cueing in a line ten deep and ready to piss your shorts. If it weren’t for Starbucks most people would be hard pressed to locate free and convenient restrooms, yet the first one I located after leaving Old Navy I must have waited ten minutes for whomever was shooting up or dying inside before I finally gave up and headed up the street to find another, which in this town is roughly every other block. I’m not sure about anyone else but when it’s 20 degrees outside and your bladder is full, a disproportionate amount of heat goes into keeping that tank heated, dropping the core body temp down ever so slowly until you’re perpetually chilled no matter where you are.
Reaching a Zen-like state of detachment I located another Starbucks relief station, yet somewhere on my way up the street the fellow in the last location must have cloned himself, and once again I was in line with a woman in front of me in what was turning into an endless state of negation.
Me: “Have you been waiting long?”
Her: “Actually, yeah, it’s taking a long time.”
Me: “See ya later.”
Once again I left and now the matter was compounded with additional bodily demands. All Zen was gone. I hustled over to 7th in search of a third Starbucks and instead found myself in some burger joint paying 95¢ for shitty cup of coffee just to use the can. Thanks Christ it wasn’t a biohazard. I was actually able to get things accomplished without worrying about contracting a deadly life-threatening illness. I tossed the coffee on the way to the subway and immediately was about ten degrees warmer inside my skin.
It must have something to do with our culture’s deeply rooted disconnect with our biological selves to pay so much more attention to material needs than basic bodily concerns—It’s the same reason we have to buy purified water. We seldom question that elemental needs require a fee, including the price of admission to take a crap.
I drink on average about five liters of water a day, and eventually it needs to go somewhere. Tonight while shopping down on 6th Avenue I was confronted with just such a situation, a desperate one in fact. Shopping can be terrifying when you’re cueing in a line ten deep and ready to piss your shorts. If it weren’t for Starbucks most people would be hard pressed to locate free and convenient restrooms, yet the first one I located after leaving Old Navy I must have waited ten minutes for whomever was shooting up or dying inside before I finally gave up and headed up the street to find another, which in this town is roughly every other block. I’m not sure about anyone else but when it’s 20 degrees outside and your bladder is full, a disproportionate amount of heat goes into keeping that tank heated, dropping the core body temp down ever so slowly until you’re perpetually chilled no matter where you are.
Reaching a Zen-like state of detachment I located another Starbucks relief station, yet somewhere on my way up the street the fellow in the last location must have cloned himself, and once again I was in line with a woman in front of me in what was turning into an endless state of negation.
Me: “Have you been waiting long?”
Her: “Actually, yeah, it’s taking a long time.”
Me: “See ya later.”
Once again I left and now the matter was compounded with additional bodily demands. All Zen was gone. I hustled over to 7th in search of a third Starbucks and instead found myself in some burger joint paying 95¢ for shitty cup of coffee just to use the can. Thanks Christ it wasn’t a biohazard. I was actually able to get things accomplished without worrying about contracting a deadly life-threatening illness. I tossed the coffee on the way to the subway and immediately was about ten degrees warmer inside my skin.
It must have something to do with our culture’s deeply rooted disconnect with our biological selves to pay so much more attention to material needs than basic bodily concerns—It’s the same reason we have to buy purified water. We seldom question that elemental needs require a fee, including the price of admission to take a crap.
posted by Stewart A. Williams at
7:35 PM
0 Comments
