The Road To Rhode Island

Or, Inspector Clouseau’s Proper Table Etiquette While On A Train.

I was sitting at one of the table/seats on the train with two friends, MovieStar and Wheezy, when the trouble started. Now, for those of you who don’t know what I mean when I say train table/seats let me explain before I go any further. Table/seats on a train have four seats, two facing front and two facing backwards with a table in the middle of them. The table has two folding leaves on it that, when folded, will allow the passengers to get in and out of the seats, but when unfolded approximates a regular table, albeit with spill-guards around the edges.

Kind of like baby chairs for four grownups.

Now that we all know what a train table/seat is, I will continue. I was sitting next to the window with MovieStar and Wheezy sitting across from me. The aisle seat next to me was vacant, but only if your definition of ‘vacant’ included a pile of women’s travel bags, a couple of coats and my Mighty Messenger Bag. Movie Star had spent the last half-hour regaling us with the story of her life (which you can see in theaters sometime soon) and Wheezy and I were busy trying to outdo each other with good natured insults. All in all, it was a pleasant ride up until the moment I realized that I needed to get up.

And by ‘get up’ I mean pee like a racehorse with a UTI.

So there I was, sitting at the table enjoying conversation with two good people when the sudden and immediate need to pee overwhelmed me. Glancing at the table, my eyes fell upon the super-duper-ultra-mega-sized fruit punch I had been sipping on for the last hour and I felt a sudden seething hatred for red dye number 5 like I never have before. Thinking quickly, I decided that my best course of action was to excuse myself and find the nearest bathroom/dark corner/empty cup and thus relieve my nearly bursting bladder.

But first I had to get up.

The process of getting up from my seat was not as simple as it may at first sound. You see, disregarding the fact that the aisle seat was overloaded with the overstuffed Snoopy-esque bags of two women who apparently felt the overwhelming need to travel with all their worldly possessions just in case of a catastrophe, I also had to contend with the table.

Or, more precisely, the items on the table.

Aside from my super-duper-ultra-mega-sized fruit punch there were also a few magazines and a big bag of pretzels on the table, all of which made folding the table leaves impossible without moving each of the items off the table first. So without further ado, or much thought, I reached out and attempted to move the nearest item on the table so I could begin the process of getting up to pee.

And the carnage began.

The nearest items to me were the magazines and, as I leaned over to lift them up, my bladder sent a note of formal protest to my brain that read something like this;

Dear Sirs,
It has come to our attention that you are attempting to coerce the greater part of this body into a shape that, while harmless on any other day, would at this particular time nevertheless lead to pressure of immense proportions on our already overtaxed systems. Please cease and desist your bodily movements immediately or we shall have no other recourse than to promptly relax our tenuous hold on GeekMan Urinal Floodgates #’s 4, 9, and 13, much to your public and private shame.
Also, stop thinking of dripping faucets. It’s not funny. Really.

Sincerely,
The Bladder

Realizing that time was of the essence, I attempted to fold over the leaf while still holding onto the magazines. The leaf hit the top of the super-duper-ultra-mega-sized fruit punch which promptly fell over. Wheezy, showing the reflexes of a cornered ferret, screeched, dove into the aisle AND caught the cup before it could spill a drop. MovieStar gave me an incredulous look of… well, incredulity as we all breathed a collective sigh of relief. Still semi-squatting in my attempt to get up, and with The Bladder sending increasingly urgent signals of impending doom to my brain, I put the magazines down on my seat and picked up the bag of pretzels. I was determined to redeem myself by carefully placing the closed bag of pretzels aside while I folded the leaf and made my exit. Unfortunately for me I hadn’t noticed that MovieStar had previously opened the bag and only folded down the opened part to keep the pretzels ‘fresh’.

However, I did notice when the entire bag of pretzels fell out in my lap.

For a second there was silence as we all took stock of the amazing implausibility of what had just transpired. Wheezy, still half out of her seat and holding onto my super-duper-ultra-mega-sized fruit punch was the first to laugh. MovieStar was second followed closely by several other passengers on the train who had taken an interest in my hurried attempts to leave my seat. Soon, everyone was laughing and pointing at me as I looked at the pile of salted pretzels in my lap and did my best to hold back my own hysterical laughter and maintain a straight and dignified demeanor. Not because I didn’t want to laugh, you understand, because it was damn funny and at any other time I would have been crying from laughing so hard, but this time I couldn’t afford to laugh at all. Because if I did laugh then I knew that Wheezy and MovieStar would have gotten very, very wet.

As it was I did pee, just a little, in my pants. Then I ran.