by Rhonda Crone

Created on: December 09, 2008

Pissin' in the Wind

I have a freakishly small bladder. During a three-hour road trip, I must request that the car be pulled over at least twice. I am not particular about the location - it can be the side of the interstate (you just open both the front and back car doors and squat in between them), a Deliverance-style dirt road, or even a nasty 7- Eleven. But only as a last resort will I enter a state rest area, since Momma always said to avoid rest areas at all costs, because there was once a woman who entered and a man lurching behind the door hit her over the head after she entered. And then what, I was never told. That was a big one, in our house, being hit over the head. Watch out, it could happen anywhere.

During a semester I took off from college, my bestie, Trixie, and our friend Harmony and I drove three hours to visit some girls that actually chose a small college down south over the state university at home. One of them was another of my best friends, Ally. We left in the evening on a Friday in Trixie's Honda, and Harmony called shotgun, so I was stuck in the back. For some reason, no one ever wanted to ride in the back. As an adult, I prefer it. For one thing, you're safer back there. Anyway, we stocked up on Miller Lite ponies (good for car travel, didn't have time to get warm) and we were off. Trixie was a freak about her car. It was squeaky-clean, inside and out, all the time. Cranking Guns-n-Roses Estranged, we kicked back and put away the ponies. About thirty minutes down the road, I had to pee, but Trix wouldn't stop the car just anywhere, and told me to hold it until we found a good place to stop. Harmony empathized with my dilemma, and covertly passed her empty McDonald's cup back to me. Quietly, drowned out by Axl Rose's piercing vocals

Now that you've been broken down, got your head out of the clouds, back down on the ground, you don't talk so loud, and you don't walk so proud anymore, and what for?

I squatted in the floorboard, taking aim at the paper cup. When it filled, I hit the window button and let the whole thing get sucked up by the seventy-mile-an-hour wind. Trix was oblivious, singing along passionately with Axl. Harmony was quietly giggling to herself, and reaching back to hit me with a five when Trix wasn't looking. This occurred repeatedly, now with pony beer bottles, since the only cup was out the window. I knew I wasn't aiming perfectly, but the drunker I got, the funnier it became. Then we finally came upon a rest area.

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