Mind Tripping

Have you ever had to pee so bad that it hurt? Like, it becomes physically and psychologically painful to even exist?

That was me last weekend.

It was my work Christmas party, and the boss took all of us (spouses included) downtown for dinner and a show called "Mind Tripping". He had amped us up about it for the last few weeks, since he had been to it before. It was a husband and wife "mentalist" type team, who put on an interactive show with a small audience. (Think an America's Got Talent act). The whole idea of being in a room with mentalists had us split into two different groups: those who wanted to hide in the back row, hoping they wouldn't read our minds and humiliate us in front of our coworkers, and those who wanted to figure out how the fuck they did it.

I was a hider, naturally. Save me a seat in the back corner, bros, I'll be thinking nothing but positive thoughts.

Except, booze. We had booze; most of us. We got giggly, and loud, and obnoxious, and it was fantastic. We walked into that room as a huge herd of deliriously giggly assholes, and somehow B and I ended up in the second row, front and fucking center. I only cared a little bit, because booze.

They were funny, and freaky good. I don't even care how they did it, it was amazing. They called out members of the audience, a few in our party, which made us laugh even more.

Halfway through the thing (approximately, I was too afraid to check my phone) it hits me like a goddamn freight train: I HAVE TO PEE, NOW. And yes, I went several times before the show started, hoping to prevent this exact scenario. Four beers will do that to a person. But, at the risk of being called out and publicly humiliated, I waited.  I've had to pee before, no big deal. I'm an adult, I can wait until it is socially acceptable to go to the bathroom.

Each minute became the longest minute of my life, unbearable. I kept trying to sneak a peak at "Archie's" watch, but that fucker kept his arms crossed. HOW MUCH LONGER?! No amount of leg jiggly, position-changing, or deep-breathing was going to get me out of this one. I looked at B, no sympathy there. Edith and Archie gave me knowing looks, "you're-going-to-get-fucking-called-out-but-you-gotta-do-what-you-gotta-do" and said "Just go." But, I can't! THEY'RE GOING TO MAKE FUN OF ME! I was staring at this Hungarian goddess, THROWING the thought "Ihavetopeeihavetopee" at her mind as hard as I could, willing her to call an intermission. No luck. My boss finally tapped me on the shoulder, having noticed my obvious predicament, and whispered "Sam, just go."

That was it, I couldn't wait anymore. Fuck the pending public humiliation, I was going to pee my pants. I stood up and BOLTED out the door in three strides, high-tailing it to the elevator. Floor 9 had a bathroom, they said. The elevator came, I danced on, and away I went. OH SWEET JESUS, CAN THIS THING GO ANY FASTER?!

Floor 9. I dashed off the elevator, only to find a line 7 deep of skinny bitches in formal dresses. A fucking FORMAL BALL was happening, and I was forced to wait with women dolled up in their finest, while I danced in my sweater dress like a 12 year old. I waited in line for the most agonizing 15 minutes of my life.

Sweet, sweet relief. I should have timed it.

Unfortunately, I missed the end of the show, and T's finale/ moment of fame. I felt terrible for leaving during the show, but relieved that I didn't get called upon during my hasty retreat. And, as a friend pointed out: "It would have been a lot more embarrassing to pee your pants."

True dat. Like the time I....nevermind,