Tuesday was my first day back at work after a lovely long weekend with my girlfriends down south. So it was a bit of a struggle emotionally and physically. I had a bit to get through, but some work fell through and so on top of feeling tired, I also felt dejected. I got through the small amount of work required, and then things heated up, I had a briefing with one of my freelance providers and then headed of to have another briefing for more work with another design business. My day was looking up, the only problem that I had to traipse over to suburban hell-hole that I like to call the North Side of Perth! There is an ingrained sense of rivalry between the northern and southern suburbs of Perth, and being a southerner I could never live north of the river, and consequently dislike going there unless it involves a trip to the physio, Café 130, or to get a design job. You could say that I am a South Side Snob, and…you would be right! But it’s cool, at least I can admit it.
I managed the trip to the North Side quite well and landed in my destination right on time! The briefing was excellent, I got a heap more jobs, and I left happy and feeling upbeat. That was until I left the meeting place and realised that I needed fuel and that I had the sudden urge to pee. “It’s alright” I told myself, we are on a main road here, there will be a petrol station not far away and they will have a loo there. So I drove, and I drove, and I drove and I drove (I could keep saying that forever but it would still not encompass the amount that I drove), but still no petrol station. So I turned off into another road, which seemed bigger and more promising, and after about five minutes I came across a Woolies petrol station! Fantastic Fuel and Loo! Or so I thought…
So I filled up the car, and even bounced with excitement as I realised I could use my Woolies voucher to reduce my petrol price! See you Northerner’s have stolen all of the Woolies Petrol stations for yourselves, as I am pretty sure I have seen all of ONE of these South of the River! So I am filled with petrol, and urine, time to dispense of the second.
“Um, hey do you have a loo here?”
“No, sorry, we don’t”
“Riggghhhhttt, so how do you guys pee then?”
“Oh we go to that shopping centre over there, (pointing towards a speck in the distance) or that pub over there, (points in the other direction to a speck in the distance)”
“Ok, cool I will just pop over to one of those then. Great thanks for that”
“Oh hang on, it’s too late the shopping centre is closed”
“That’s cool, I’ll go to the pub”
“Oh and the pub’s not open yet.”
“Riiiggghhhttt! So how do you guys pee then?”
“We either wait for the pub to open or just pee round the back”
“Well I can’t really wait because you see;
(a) I have to pick up my husband from work in Applecross in like five minutes
(b) My bladder may burst any second (by this time am jiggling uncontrollably)
(c) I am a girl and the idea of having to squat in public, in suburbia, is not really appealing to me”
(The poor guy is thinking by now, “get this psycho peeing b*tch out of here”.)
“That’s ok…not your fault. But you might want to approach your boss about putting some flipping toilets in”
You northerners have all the f-ing Woolies Petrol Stations and no f-ing public toilets! What is wrong with you people! We southerners just wouldn’t put up with a NO public toilet fiasco like that!
Faced with a near exploding bladder and a jiggling disorder that looked somewhat familiar to Parkinson’s (apologies in advance to all of those who are suffering from Parkinson’s, it is a horrible disease and I am a total b*tch for comparing it to me incessant need to pee) I bundle into the car and absolutely floor it down the road. I am right now supposed to be picking up my husband, and I am still 25 minutes away, in North Side Ar*e Crack no-where and I still need to pee. Deciding that I have the strength and will of a highly trained martial arts-man I zoom onto the Freeway and spend 25 minutes jiggling in my seat and driving through the Freeway traffic at a snails pace. Whilst trying to disguise my jiggling from other drivers, who by this stage have started wondering why this psycho is jiggling and swearing in her car next to them, and who have all have tripped their central locking in case she decides to jump ship into their car and murder them. I may not have murdered them, but if they had a loo I definitely would have bribed them with dried banana chips so that I could relieve myself asap!
By the time I get to my husbands work I am dying. Literally, I may have keeled over where I was standing, dead in a pool of pee. I called him from the front step of his office, begging him to buzz the door so I can run upstairs to the loo. He does so, or so he thinks, because the door won’t open! I am jiggling and thinking THE DOOR WON’T OPEN, THE DOOR WON’T OPEN! OH MY GOD, IT’S COMING, I CAN’T HOLD IT!!!!!!
I won’t share the rest of the details but I made it to the toilet, just, after almost bursting for over an hour. Let me tell you that I felt like I had reached Nirvana as I walked out of that restroom, life could not have been better. Lesson learnt here is, all you southerners out there, next time you decide to travel to the northern suburbs make sure you pack a toilet roll, and a trailer carrying your own porta potty. DO NOT expect that you will be able to find a toilet in a hurry!