Blackmailing The Piss Out Of Me

So, there I was. Stuck in traffic on Old Georgetown Pike in McLean, VA. Residences to the left of me; residences to the right of me and only a single lane of traffic in each direction. The worst part of it?

I had just started feeling the effects of a 16 oz. bottle of Diet Pepsi.

Oh, dear God I had to piss. Even better was that earlier in the day a woman drove up next to me and told me that my brake lights weren’t working. That was all I would need to crown this day: someone to rear end me and causing the dam to burst. Yes, yes – nothing like being in an accident and pissing yourself. The sickly, sweet urine smell and the large, wet, dark horseshoe outlining your crotch would be enough for someone to commit hari kari rather than step out of the car to check the damage.

I was in luck, though. Just before the light that connected Old Georgetown Pike to Route 7 was a small shopping center that was bound to have someplace with a public restroom. I tried to wait and take my mind off my bladder and my need to pee. I did the happy-feet dance while I was sitting in the car. I thought of a desert. I sang songs at the top of my lungs to the chagrin of the people in front and behind me. All the while I felt like the same bottle of Diet Pepsi that I consumed; shaken vigorously and about to be opened to an explosive geyser of pee.

The cars slowly crept forward. I was finally able to get to the shopping center entrance and I drove around, frantically looking for an establishment. Let’s see…dry cleaner, carpet store, fine dining restaurant. So far, nothing. Finally I hit the jackpot! A cafe! I immediately parked the car and went inside, each step an excruciating exercise in an attempt not to burst. Behind the counter was a young woman dutifully cleaning. I asked where the restroom was.

“The restrooms are for paying customers only.”

AAAARGH! I relented and selected a pack of gum, only to be met with “are you sure that’s all that you want?” Sweat was starting to bead off my brow and I was growing dizzy. I placed a small pack of mints next to the gum. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” she sarcastically said to me. I looked around and saw that the place was empty. No customers means no money. No money means the restroom stays beyond the reach of my penis. Desperate, I quickly blurted out:

SMALL COFFEE, BLACK, RASPBERRY DANISH, BLACK AND WHITE COOKIE, THE PACK OF GUM, THE MINTS, THIS BAG OF WILLY WONKA MIXED CANDIES, A BOTTLE OF WATER, A COPY OF USA TODAY AND THIS PACK OF GUMMI BEARS.

With that I dropped $20 on the counter and made a mad dash to the restroom. I swear that I stood there wizzing for a good two minutes; the waves of relief cascading over me with each drop of pee that left my body. When I finally exited the restroom I let out an audible sigh.

“Here’s your change, sir.” said the evil guardian of the restroom as she passed me my bag of goods and my small cup of coffee. I thanked her, left her a $2 tip and made my way to my car. I felt both defeated by the cute teen behind the counter and victorious over my bloated bladder.