I had 15 minutes left of my prep time when the fire alarm went off.
Prep (or preparatory) time is the 50 or so minutes (depending on the district) that teachers have while their students are at specials classes (i.e. music, gym, technology, culture, etc.) to do all of the things. We might be making copies, or grading papers, or organizing the lesson that comes after specials, or eating our lunch (in case something happened over our 25 minute lunch), or making a doctor appointment, or having a parent/team/special education meeting, and hopefully using the restroom before we pick up our kids.
It was that last part that got me today. I was on my way down to the office with some beginning-of-the-year paperwork, and ducked into a bathroom… and the fire alarm sounded. I rolled my eyes, sighed, and went to find my class. Bathroom would have to wait until the end of the day: a full hour and 15 minutes later.
For some of you, an hour and 15 minutes isn’t that much time to wait to empty your bladder. I have some friends who can go an entire workday (though this is not advisable). I, however, am not one of you. Anywhere I go in the world, my first check is for the location of the nearest bathroom. If there’s likely to be a line — at a concert, say — I need to include the queue time in my “how long can I hold it” factoring.
There was a time when my friend Lehto’s mother was driving Lehto, Steve and myself back to Macalester after Thanksgiving break. There was a terrible snowstorm and driving was treacherous. I had to go — I was practically bursting — but Sue didn’t feel that she could pull over to the side of the road because 1) she wasn’t sure where the side was, and 2) the snow was piling up so fast she was pretty sure she’d get stuck. Not wanting me to pee on her backseat, however, she pulled to the “shoulder” and I jumped out. I pulled down my pants in snow up to my butt, leaned back, and relieved myself. The relief was short-lived, however, as Lehto and Steve were screaming at me to “HURRY!” as the car slowly moved forward, trying to keep from being buried. I ran clumsily through the drifts — losing one of my favorite mittens in the process — and caught up.
In my youth, I was actually quite adept at urinating in the great outdoors. Hey, it’s a skill! Women have so much to gauge at these moments: is there an object (rock or tree) against which I can lean? Is there a handhold (truck bumper, deck railing) that I can hold whilst leaning backwards? Which way is downhill? Are my pants in the way? Can anyone see me?
It really helps if you have a buddy in these situations, either to screen for you or at the very least, join you in the struggle. When we had an outdoor campus showing of Pulp Fiction in the field near the Humanities Building at Mac, and the closest available toilet was in my dorm across campus, I had a friend who stood in front of me while I had a wee on the aforementioned Humanities Building. (Sorry, Mom.)
Also helpful is your brain, which at some point decides that your need to not wet yourself in public overrides silly things like pride, vanity, and the need to not break the law. For instance, one night in London during my junior year abroad, a group of women and I were trying to find this one club we had heard about. We hoofed it (in heels, naturally) through streets and alleyways, having no luck at all. Finally, I announced that if we couldn’t find it in the next 5 minutes, I would have to use the great outdoors as my loo. Sure enough, I dragged an unwilling accomplice down a side street to cover me, grabbed the bumper of a nearby vehicle, and committed an act of public urination. (I really am sorry, Mom.)
My brother — dubbed “The Smallest Bladder in Bluegrass” by one of his bandmates in a newspaper interview several years back — understands my plight to a degree, but as he has not had babies and (I’m assuming) is not in the throes of perimenopause, I’m guessing he’s a bit better off than I am.
This all brings me back to my work day. It is the first week of school, and I foolishly let myself go to the bathroom whenever I felt the need over the 3 months of summer break. My body is no longer used to the stretch of toilet-less time from 7:55 (my last piddle before I greet my students) to 11:35 (when my teammates and I cycle out of lunch duty to enjoy the bathroom and 30 seconds of blessed silence).
Over the years, I have acquired a handful of Emergency Strategies for mornings when I down my coffee too quickly or maybe *gasp* drink a bit of water at some point. My first move is to text the office and/or Mikki (social worker/bestie) to see if they have a moment to stand in my room while I dash down the hall. 2nd strategy is checking with the special education classrooms in the hallway, to see if a paraprofessional is perhaps between students and could likewise stand in my room. Sometimes, I’m extremely lucky and I’ll be able to wait until science, when I often have a para assigned to students in my room and I can sneak out. All of these scenarios require me to have the students working independently at that exact moment, so it can be tricky. More often than not, I’m doing a bit of a potty dance on the way down the hall to the lunchroom. Super attractive, I’m sure.
In conclusion, if you are in a career which allows you to head to the bathroom whenever the spirit moves you, take a moment to count your blessings. Somewhere out there is a teacher who has just taken her entire class on an unscheduled bathroom break because the day is long and she didn’t bring a spare change of clothes.
Thanks for reading.
Love, Susie
Oh my gosh…I remember that day in the crazy snowstorm! It is a miracle that we made it to St Paul. This made me laugh but you’re posts usually do 😉
I could have written this. Well, no, because I do not have your writing talent.
But it all rings TOO TRUE.
I learned the term "pop and squat" recently - describes it so well.