#6: Ari Drives to The City
SHORT STORY
Once upon a last Friday, Ari set out on a journey to The City. New York City, obviously. She learned years prior that any other city is simply A City. There can only be one The City. For example, if she was talking about driving from the suburbs into Indianapolis and said her family sometimes went into “the” city to visit the children’s museum, that would be incorrect. So very country mouse of her. The narrator thinks this is a stupid rule but admits that it did make Ari feel special and adventurous when she finally drove herself into the only city worthy of the definite article.
She embarked on her journey from Washington, DC. Emerging from the garage where she pays $250/mo to park (a crime), it immediately dawned on her that it was the weekend of the White House Correspondents Dinner. This dawning occurred as officers redirected traffic away from several closed roads. Unfortunately, officers on the other end of the closures were redirecting traffic in the same direction, resulting in a snail’s pace traffic jam on a side street. Five minutes into her journey, she sat for 45 minutes in avoidable traffic. Honkers honked. Semi-trucks made 26-point turns. Ari queued podcasts and cursed under her breath.
Once she escaped the jam, the drive was relatively smooth. DC to Baltimore. Baltimore to some sewage treatment plant. Some sewage treatment plant to a single rest stop- McDonald’s combo. Rest stop-McDonald’s combo to Jersey City.
By the time she reached Jersey City, Ari had to pee something fierce. Six hours into what was supposed to be a four-hour trip, her bladder power was waning. She needed a bathroom stat. Jersey City has to be the most trafficked strip mall of a town there ever was. Nine lanes of traffic separated gas stations on either side of the sprawling road. All nine lanes funneling down to the two-lane Holland Tunnel. Overwhelmed, and anxious to relieve herself, Ari stayed the course. Her GPS predicted 25 minutes to her West Village destination. Surely, she could make it.
As nine lanes abruptly squished into two, Ari descended into the Holland Tunnel. Two miles of dimly lit concrete beneath the Hudson River. Trying hard to shake the image of water gushing into the tunnel drowning them all, Ari clutched the front of her jeans. Oh yeah, did I mention she decided to wear jeans during a half-day’s drive just because she’s trying to deny who she truly is and become a “light packer”? Stupid. Anyway, she clutched the front of her jeans together in an effort to strangle her bladder and not piss herself. She focused on her breathing and her breathing and nope not her watery death if this tunnel collapses just her breathing and nope not the watery death of her new jeans if she pissed herself in this car just her breathing and her breathing and oh look! There it was. The literal light at the end of the tunnel.
Ari breathed a ragged sigh of relief which she had to cut short because any release in her torso was going to cause the dam between her legs to burst. Siri said turn left. Left was blocked with construction. Siri rerouted. Siri said make a u-turn. So Ari did. Ari made a u-turn RIGHT BACK INTO THE MOTHERFREAKING HOLLAND TUNNEL.
Two more miles of deep-river driving and the pain was almost unbearable. When she emerged back into Jersey City, Ari yanked the wheel across three lanes of traffic (a wildly irresponsible driving maneuver) and skirted into a gas station parking lot. Squeezing her thighs together and still clutching the waist of her jeans, she hobbled inside. There, in all its glory was the bathroom door — with a fudging “Employees Only” sign.
Ari turned to the man behind the plexiglass in desperation.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Is there any way I could use your bathroom? It’s an emergency.”
The pain was clear on her face and in the humiliating way she danced in front of the counter. But the man did not see any of that because he didn’t look up from the game he was playing on his phone.
“No,” he said.
“Please,” she pleaded. “It’s an emergency. I really can’t hold it. I’ll fill up my tank and buy a bunch of merchandise. Please,” she begged.
Again, the man did not look up.
“No,” he said.
“Please. I will give you $50 cash. You personally. I won’t even buy anything. Please can I use your bathroom?”
At this point, tears welled in Ari’s eyes. She was clutching her jeans so tight she was starting to shake. The man didn’t look up.
“No,” he said.
A woman who already hated Ari for some unknown reason approached the counter and gave her the dirtiest look she’d ever received.
“Can I buy my chips?” She spat.
The man finally looked up.
“$3.75,” he said.
The woman dug in her purse.
“Please sir, is there anything I can do to use the restroom?” Ari begged.
The man finally looked at her.
“Get out,” he said.
Ari straightened up. Released her grip on her jeans. Spread her legs. Maintained eye contact with the gas station clerk. And pissed all over the Marathon floor.
Just kidding! She slunk down onto the floor and whimpered like a child while the clerk man and chip woman stared at her like she was pathetic!
“Get out,” the man repeated.
Humiliated, Ari stood up.
“Can you at least tell me where there is a public restroom?” she wiped at her eyes.
“Home Depot,” he said.
Ari pushed open the door and stood on the sidewalk. The chip woman brushed past her, mumbling something to do with “bitch” under her breath. Ari’s desperation-turned-humiliation-turned-sorrow turned to anger. In a movie moment of unhinged inner chaos, she craned her head to the sky and yelled, “FUUUUUUUUCK.”
Then she got in her car, clutching her jeans once more, and plugged Home Depot into her GPS. Seven minutes. Great.
Seven minutes later she pulled around and around up the Home Depot parking garage. Throwing her car in park, she launched herself out of the driver’s seat and almost collapsed. As soon as her legs became weight-bearing, painful pins and needles radiated from her bladder down to her toes. It was difficult to walk. I’m going to pass out and piss myself in a Jersey City Home Depot, Ari thought to herself.
The doors of a service elevator parted as Ari hobbled over. An employee stepped out pushing a cart of pallets.
“Excuse me,” Ari cried. “Do you have a public restroom?”
“Yes! Downstairs all the way in the back,” the angel man replied.
Ari dragged herself into the service elevator (stupid girl) and pressed G. The doors closed and the metal box started to descend, then stopped. Not on a floor. Just stopped. No ding. Nothing. Ari started to panic, slamming the door open button before she remembered that movie where the woman’s legs get sliced off in an elevator-between-floors situation. She stopped pushing the door open button and looked around. No camera.
Ari pulled down her pants and peed in the back right corner of the elevator.
Kidding again! She just kept pushing G until an unsettling kerthunk set the elevator in motion again. For some possessed reason, it went back up to P2 (where she had parked), the doors opened and closed and then descended to G. By now Ari was sweating in full-on crisis mode. She burst out of the elevator on the ground floor, causing a scene.
“Please, where are the restrooms!” she shouted while people milled about buying wood or screws or whatever.
A woman in an orange vest who was helping an elderly man stared at Ari with a look of…let’s call it deceit in her eyes.
“Aisle 3,” she said.
“Thank you!” Ari took off for Aisle 3.
Speed walking as quickly as one can with their thighs smashed together, Ari arrived in Aisle 3. And what, dear reader, do you think she discovered there?
I’ll give you a minute. Really think on it.
Yes, that’s it.
IT WAS THE FUCKING TOILET AISLE.
“Goddammit!” Ari yelled to no one in particular.
An old man examining plumbing options shot her a dirty look. She peed on his head.
Kidding again. She looked around in a panic.
A young man sauntered up to her. In his most suave voice, he said, “Can I help you find something?'“
“I need a bathroom!” she shrieked.
“Oh, I’m heading there now, I can walk you,” said the smooth guy.
“No. I need to run,” Ari barked.
Smooth guy turned off the suave.
“Okay, damn. It’s all the way back and to the left.”
“Thanks!” Ari ran through the store, denim slicing into her abdomen.
Then, for real this time, she peed. The most aggressive, not even satisfying because at that point it was a medical emergency, pee of her life.
She walked out of Home Depot with her head held high, not stopping the address the smirk on the toilet aisle lady’s face. She drove once more through the Holland Tunnel. Somehow parallel parked in THE effing city and was only 55 minutes late to lunch.
The end.
Jeez Louise. This week was a doozy. I hope you are taking care of yourself first and foremost. It’s difficult to help when you aren’t meeting your own needs — so chug some water, sleep eight hours, and hug a uterus-owner!
My hope for this newsletter is to provide a source of joy and levity for you all. As they say, laughter is the only free medicine in the United States of America. I hope this was a helpful dose.
If you know someone who could use a laugh, please tell them Respectful Smartass is just what the doctor ordered.
I love you all! Thank you for supporting me and my work. I hope you have a wonderful weekend full of your very own choices.
Pissed,
Ariana