The Number One Rule of Travel (The Anxious Traveler)

Always--I mean always--use the bathroom whenever you get the chance. I speak from personal (and painful) experience.

Believe it or not, this rule actually surpasses the old, "When in Rome..." rule--which, if you want to get technical, is not

When in Rome, do as the Romans do,

but rather,

When in Rome, go to the bathroom at every opportunity because you never know when you'll find another public bathroom except in restaurants that expect you to buy at least one $5 cappuccino before you get the privilege of using their toilet...and then you'll be expected to tip the lady who replaces the toilet paper rolls.

Travel can be hell on the bladder.

Case in point: January 3, 2005. Lesson learned? A grande hot chocolate from the Starbucks in the Seattle/Tacoma airport before getting on a plane to San Francisco is not a good idea. By the time we'd taken off, I was desperate for the lavatory.

That's not so bad as what happened later, however.

The flight from Seattle to San Francisco is under two hours. After my initial post-takeoff sprint to the rear of the plane, I figured I was fine. About fifteen minutes before landing, I decided it might not be a bad idea to make one more trip. I took care of business (yes, Mom, I washed my hands...) and returned to my seat, buckling up in anticipation of our imminent descent into the City by the Bay. Within minutes, the plane was gliding towards home, when...

Uh-oh.

I had to pee again. Badly.

I'm not talking about a little, "Oh, I can hold it until landing" kind of pee. I'm talking, "Holy COW--what was in that hot chocolate?!?" Within a few minutes, I was in all kinds of pain. Meanwhile, the plane was in serious runway approach mode.

Suddenly, my relationship with God was more intimate than ever. "Dear God, if you just let me get through the jolt of landing without wetting myself, I will be a better person. I promise!" God must have been listening.

Once we hit that runway, I knew I was mere minutes from using the lavatory a third and final time on this flight. Hurrah! My hands were poised over the seat belt buckle as we taxied into the gate, and finally, we stopped. My eyes were glued to the seat belt sign.

It didn't go off.

Instead, the head flight attendant got on the intercom and informed us that the towing vehicle couldn't move the airplane.

"We're just waiting on another towing vehicle that has enough 'oomph' to get us that last six feet or so. Please remain seated, and do not unfasten your seat belts just yet."

(Yes, he used the word "oomph.")

I was torn--should I laugh like a loon or bawl uncontrollably? Fearing that both options might worry my fellow passengers, I chose to sit with my legs tightly crossed and continue praying.

Finally--FINALLY--the needed "oomph" was found and the plane was shoved into its parking spot. The seat belt sign went off with a cheery "ding!" and within two seconds, I was slamming the door of the lavatory shut in the surprised face of a flight attendant.

Tears of relief flowed. Prayers of thanks were whispered.

Fortunately, air travel provides more sanitary options for answering nature's call. I've been to my share of airports and they all have pretty clean bathrooms. Even airplane lavatories aren't too awful, unless you're claustrophobic. On the road, however, things can get scary.

Many years ago, as a young high school student, I traveled to Oregon for a long weekend with my parents. On the way back to our home in the greater Sacramento area, Mom found herself desperate for a bathroom. We stopped at a gas station, and I can clearly recall my mom retreating from the station bathrooms looking very bad-tempered.

"There's no toilet paper," she snapped, followed by another 30 minutes or so of bad-tempered driving on her part as we sped down the highway to the next town.

"What, you couldn't drip dry?" came Dad's reply. He was smiling as he said it. I promptly laughed until I cried. Mom just got more pissed off.

Finally, we found a place to stop. Mom ran into a restaurant to use the bathroom, and even though we weren't eating there, the kindly owners let her in. This time when she returned to the car, she looked dumbfounded.

"I thought there was a body in there! But it turned out to be a mannequin in a bathtub."

Hey, at least she got to go, and now she was in a much better humor to appreciate Dad's "drip dry" comment.


Originally posted on "The Anxious Traveler" on 4/1/08