The Bathroom Break

I was running the front line at the pharmacy when I got the sudden urge to tinkle. Yes, I said tinkle. I can’t speak for anyone else but I for one cannot hold it all day, I can assure you there would be an accident.

So I rush off to the bathroom to do what God intended and call me silly, I didn’t announce it. I am an extreme introvert and well— no one really needed to know but me. I wouldn’t be gone that long, so what could happen?

Queue up fate.

So there I was in the middle of my business, minding my own business when I heard one of my pharmacists yell my name.

Great.

I was not about to yell ‘what’ through the bathroom door. She could wait, I was not about to have an uncomfortable conversation through the bathroom door about which little white round pill Mr. Smith needed. So I ignored it, I wouldn’t be in there that much longer anyway. I hadn’t been in there that long to begin with!

I heard my pharmacists yell my name again.

For Heaven’s sake, give me a minute.

It wasn’t until the third time she yelled that I began to get concerned. This time she was yelling with a little more urgency.

“Laura—Laura!”

Each time she yelled she sounded more panicked.

I heard her ask someone else, “Where is Laura?”

Then other employees jumped on the ‘Laura’ band wagon and began screaming my name throughout the pharmacy.

Sweet mother of Pearl, what?

Not to be too personal here but you just can’t stop and go check. Reluctantly I yelled through the door.

“I’m in the bathroom.”

Of course they didn’t hear me because they’re still screaming my name!

“Laura! Find Laura!”

I was in the middle of shaking my head when I heard someone shout, “The fire trucks are here.”

Fire truck? Are we on fire?

After I hysterically finished my thrown room interview, complete with a hand washing ceremony, I rushed out the door; fully expecting to see flames rolling through the ceiling.

“What’s happening?” I shouted.

My pharmacist came around the corner while others stopped their frantic search and looked at me.

“Oh there you are,” my pharmacist said, “I was worried those fire trucks were for you.”

“What fire trucks?” I asked exasperated.

“The ones that just pulled up at the gas station, we all thought you had gone down there for a snack and fainted.”

I felt my mouth drop.

“You mean to tell me you were shouting my name because of fire trucks down at the gas station?” I cried.

“I thought you were dead.” My pharmacist countered.

I looked out our front door to see firemen rush into the restaurant that was attached to the gas station. I found out later that their stove had caught on fire. My five minute tinkle break turned into a one minute twenty seven second scramble of hysteria; just to find out there was nothing really wrong.

​I held it the rest of the day.