bother

Walking back at ‘round midnight (with due respect to Dexter Gordon), I realize that I never really did pay attention to the route I took when walking back from my pub of choice since before hitting legal age till date and home.

I don’t have much of a constitution, and whatever that I have is over and above my bladder capacity at any rate. As I stand up and walk out, I think to myself whether I should take a leak. Nah, I think to myself. I’ll last. The seed of a bad idea.

We stand outside, making chit-chat. Hugs ensue. I walk a woman back home – it is late, after all, and it’s not too much off my path. But it is off my path. I contemplate asking her whether I can stop at her place. But I don’t. Germination ensues.

I’ve walked this path a lot. I mean, not to exaggerate, but perhaps close to a hundred times. All at similar times of the night, though with varying levels of sobriety. It’s a wonder I’ve never been stopped by the cops, or been mugged, or had any incident at all.

This time though, like other times, as I’m walking back, I don’t really feel the distance. However, having walked someone else back, I had taken a deviation. Now I’m on the road, trying to figure out which way to go, even as it dawns that I have the capacity of a thimble, if one with a delayed release mechanism.

So, now, I’m walking by, wondering which way to go, in the knowledge that I’m in roughly the right direction, to emerge somewhere eventually, with a rapidly filling bladder. The question is, do I let myself go now, or endure.

Public urination.

Now, are there set conventions? I wondered, even as I tried to motor towards home base.

Do not urinate in public is the overarching one – flouted constantly.

When it’s twelve at night, what are the conventions?

For one thing, I thought that taking deep breaths of the night air would be a pointer – if I can smell the pee, it’d be safe to go there. Boldly go where many have gone before. But no luck, and no pee.

Pee where nobody is around the immediate vicinity would be one. It’s just not on to take a leak on someone sleeping on the pavement, or in his/her personal space.

But any people at all? Now, people squatting around at a distance where they can perceive what is happening is probably a no-no, but those who’re walking by can just keep walking – live and let live.

Pee on walls. That is to say, don’t pee on shuttered storefronts and the like. Probably more likely to get rapped by security guards in any case. The same goes for apartment buildings. Plus, they’re brightly lit.

Dark zones are required. State property seems to be a magnet – any transformer, fuse box or construction normally reeks of piss.

But is there an exception to the watchmen rule? I was desperate, and still some way off. I had my sneakers on, and broke into a run, but still couldn’t make it.

I stopped, pinching my parts to stop the urge. Looking around for a suitable spot that wasn’t well-lit or a storefront, I saw a house wall. But the problem was, I knew the people living there, and knew they had a watchman.

Too bad.

As I was relieving myself, the diligent watchman wakes up and runs up to me, thankfully mindful of my needs – waiting till I finish – and then starts yelling at me.

What can I say? I’m clearly in the wrong, and without excuse. And I can’t get a word in too, between his abuses and fist-shaking. Finally when he’s done, I look him in the eye and tell him who lives at the residence, and his parents’ and wife’s name to boot. Comprehension dawns, but the disgust remains.

However clearly I’ve gained the upper hand, and I rouse myself to haughtily tell him to merely inform his employers, and to get in touch with me in the morning, if they’re so concerned.

I unhook the phone before I go to bed. It might be a long day tomorrow.