The unbearable stress of peeing on public transport
Apart from an overnight train journey from Bangkok to Phuket where my bunk bed was next to the toilet and my cabin was infested with cockroaches, this is quickly turning into one of the most unpleasant journeys I can remember.
This bus is hotter than the sun. It’s hotter than an old people’s care home! And to make things worse I am dressed appropriately for snow. That means I am wearing thermals from head to toe. I’m wilting. I’m dying a slow, horrible death, stewing in my own juices - like a boil in the bag cod.
And that Grande Caramel latte before I boarded the bus was a Grande mistake. As a seasoned traveller I should have known better. But thanks to countless hours on coaches, boats, trains and long haul flights, I consider myself somewhat of a pro at peeing on high-speed public transport.
Using the toilet on public transport of any kind is never without stress. What if the bus driver swerves unexpectedly and I’m suddenly hurled through the door with my pants round my ankles? What if I put soap all over my hands and then the little tiny tap refuses to produce any water to wash it off? And I know I locked the door, but is it actually locked? All legitimate concerns.
As most men will tell you from bitter experience, gripping that tiny handrail for dear life and aiming for a toilet bowl the size of a tea-cup with any kind of accuracy as you are flung around like a marble in a tin-can is out of the question, unless you’re feeling supremely confident. No man likes to pee sitting down, but if the alternative is spraying the wall and walking out with wet trousers, then it’s probably best to take a seat.
But this… this is new territory. I open the door to the remarkably tiny cubicle, but no light comes on. Previous experience tells me that attempting to wee in the dark on a juddering bus is asking for trouble. I panic slightly, wondering what to do.
I pull the door shut to see just how dark it is. It’s pitch black. I search franticly for a light switch, pressing a myriad of buttons I manage only to turn on the electric hand dryer and pump soap into the basin.
I stand there in the dark carefully considering my options. For a brief moment I consider peeing with the door open, but I think better of it.
After deliberating in the dark, I return to my seat and decide it’s probably best to hold it in. Cardiff is only 3 hours away, and besides, if this bus gets any hotter I’ll have sweated out every bit of moisture before Bristol.
