Hotel Peewanda

Admittedly, there have been a handful of times, as an adult, that I have peed my pants in public. Here is one of those stories.

I work in sales for a hotel management company which means a good portion of my salary is based on how many shots I can get a Chinese CEO to take before signing a ½ a million dollar contract before passing out at the hotel bar. I like to consider myself a very high paid professional drinker. I have a certain sense of pride and arrogance that I can pull an all nighter with my client, find them a front desk agent to sleep with at 4AM, go home for one hour and show up to work on time, fully dressed and ready for my two hour nap in my office.

Now, I have had several years of training for this particular job duty, so it typically isn’t a huge challenge on my end to be smashed and still function, so you can imagine my surprise when my bladder (not me) could no longer, literally, hold the liquor that I had ingested.

After about 7 vodka soda double talls, I have certain topics of conversation that are my “Go-tos” – kind of like a oral safety net. I know not to get in too deep with things I don’t know about like hockey, use words with strange sounds like “analysis” but slur my words so bad it sounds like I said “anal sex”, or bring up any inappropriate socially taboo topics like partially assisted abortion. Yes. Yes. And Yes. Oh…. That was me answering all of you asking – “Did you really do all of those things?” Moving on. My topics are as follows: city of origin, family, golf, vacation. I know it sounds really stupid but I’m telling you, it works. All I do is move down a list of questions on each topic that is about the other person. They end of doing all the talking because – to be honest – who doesn’t like talking about themselves? And I end up doing all the drinking because – to be honest – I have a serious drinking problem. I end up smashed and they end up leaving our interaction thinking “Gosh, I really like her. I don’t know why, but I do.” It’s because I’ve just guzzled my way through a 45 minute monologue about how their precious little 3 year old angel is the next Brittany Spears or how great their last vacation was. You get the idea. Oh, and don’t try this at home either… amateurs. I’ve had a lot of practice.

The one down fall of the go-to topics is that I only use them when I have been drinking too much… and when I drink too much, I have to pee A LOT and OFTEN. And you can’t interrupt them – how could you – they are talking about themselves. Who gives a shit that your bladder is about to explode or you have urine pouring out of your eye lids?

So, I’m standing there, in the middle of Big Bar at the Hyatt Regency Chicago and the wave of urine urgency rushes between my legs. I shift weight and listen to another catastrophically boring story about someone’s golf handicap. My toes start to tap a little faster, I cross my legs a little harder, and I can’t get an edge in word wise with this absolute douche bag from this third party company so I can’t excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I start thinking of other body parts in my head so maybe I will be distracted enough to not have to wee wee. I shift weight again and start cursing my freakishly small bladder. Oh wait… he is pausing… maybe if I can … oh. Nope. He just taking a breather before changing the subject to yet another joyful rendition of why his is the best person that ever lived. After awhile, I start to think that maybe the pee has gone away so I loosen my kung foo thigh grip from my crotch but to no avail #1 is still #1 and I had to find out the hard way because now the flow has started.

I know that I am completely fucked right now. I have to move to walk to the bathroom but if I move, I’m going to pee. I can’t execute the squeeze and scoot because there are too many people around. It’s like I’m a prisoner of drinking war and I’m being held captive by my own sick disease. In the middle of his sentence about fiscal plans I make a run for it. I can’t hold it anymore. It’s do-or-die time. I have to find the nearest bathroom – in the biggest hotel in Chicago. FML. Seriously. FML.

With each step I take, I feel the warm steady stream shower down my leg, carrying my dignity and probably my career, along with it. I can almost guarantee that there is a trail of urine on the bar floor into the lobby that will lead directly to me – as evidence of my crime. Still urinating on me and the floor, I find a bellman and ask him where the bathroom is- I try to lie and say that I spilled a drink on my crotch but he knows. I know he knows and he knows that I know that he knows but we all just play along like nothing is happening. He directs me to the nearest restroom and I hustle into the stall. Smelly, drunk, and left to my own devices I come up with one of the most ingenious and disgusting plans to exit the building.

I obviously can’t walk through the well lit lobby with my light grey express pee-pee pants that are not dark grey just in the vagina and inner leg area. I don’t carry a spare pair of pants (note to self- start carrying a spare pair of pants) and I can’t stand in the bathroom in my underwear to wash my pants in the sink. So the only logical thing for me to do is to take my pants off and dunk them into the public toilet in the Hyatt Regency Chicago lobby. That’s right. You just read that.

My though process was that if ALL areas of my pants are dark gray, then nobody will know that I peed my pants. What? You’re telling me that it wasn’t a genius idea? I mean, it’s definitely gross but genius gross like the shake weight.

Once my pants are completely soaked and one color, I ring them out the best I can and go back to the party. A hotel staff member stops me in the lobby and is all “Um… can we help you- what’s wrong with your pants?” Still dripping at the hems, I am shockingly surprised that my plan had been foiled so quickly so I immediately blame some made up stranger and say that they dumped a drink on me and I had to wash my pants in the bathroom. When questioned further, I point my tainted toilet water finger at the long winded third party guy. Serves him right. Let that be a lesson to all of you- don’t be long winded when you speak to me at a bar. I just might have to pee. I just might pee right in front of you. And then I just might make up an exasperated story to a hotel security on how you spilled a drink down my pants and make a run for the cab while you are escorted out of a party for assaulting someone.