It happened to me this weekend.
I was driving down the street when my stomach suddenly cramped. I looked down and saw the 32 ounces of Diet Coke were gone from my McDonalds’s cup and knew, just knew that I was about to have a bathroom emergency.
I needed the loo, and badly.
I shifted in my seat and tried not to think of the conga line forming in my large intestine. I tried not to think of the whoopie cushion rapidly filling into a water balloon just inches behind my seatbelt.
A sweat broke out.
I scanned the horizon for Starbucks, for Mc Donald’s, for gas stations, for absolutely anywhere that might have a public bathroom.
I had a moment where I wondered if there was anywhere private enough that I could pull over and take care of the emergency happening in my body. Did I have baby wipes? Could I find a baby diaper in the trunk: I did a mental inventory before remembering this s a new car. What was I wearing? Why couldn’t I at least wear a skirt that would give me some privacy? What is the exact fine for toileting in public?
I considered where I was going. Did I really need to go? If I had an accident, did I have other clothes to change in to?
Was I closer to home or my destination?
And my empathy meter racketed up 2 more stops.
I had a bathroom I could get to.
I was dressed nicely enough to walk into a public place and use their bathroom without too many sideways looks.
But people who are homeless? What do they have?
Pretty much – they don’t have a pot to P!$$ in and there doesn’t seem to be a plan to fix that.
And that – is gross. To quote the great musical Annie “When you gotta go, you gotta go!”, so people are pooping and peeing on the street. That is building up bacteria and smell and frankly LA doesn’t get enough rain to push that into the sewer system.