I was hoping to go home on Saturday and spend Easter with my family, but recent events at work have nixxed that plan, so I will be spending Easter in Italy...Sicily, Catania to be more specific.
About five or six years ago I was in Rome with three friends, and we attended Easter Mass in Vatican City. It was pretty cool, yah know one of those experiences of a life time that you will never forget, and mine was perfect until I had to pee. Yup, you read that correctly, my bladder screwed up one of the most memorable moments of my life, and here's how it went down...
It was Easter Sunday, and my friends and I prepared to attend Mass in Vatican City. We had been in Italy for a few days, so we were used to the hub and bub of the place, but I was ill prepared for the amount of people I was going to encounter once we reached the Vatican. We were all semi-religious, but attending services on Easter wasn't out of obligation, we just thought it would be a fun experience, something we could talk about for years to come.
Myself... I was raised Catholic, but considered myself a high holiday religionist, only attending services for funerals, weddings, and major holidays. Melinda is Lutheran, but she had no quams about going to a Catholic service; she thought the whole ceremony was actually kind of cool--multicultural, and mildly liberal, which is totally up her alley. And finally, there was Megan. Hmm, where to begin with her? She's a mid-Western all American white chick who lead a mostly sheltered life until she decided to study for a semester in Ireland, where she met myself and Melinda. We did our best to corrupt her as much as possible, but her parents educated her well and she retained the Catholic guilt that many of us shed in our tween/teenage years. She felt like going to Mass was her duty, as a result she was prompt, well dressed, and prepared for battle at o'dock thirty.
We arrived at Vatican City at about 8am, dressed in out Sunday best, which was a business like suit for me, but I kept it super casual with flip flops and sunglasses. I carried my backpack into which I packed a change of clothes, a snack, a bottled water, and my camera. I wasn't the dressy sort, so I had to be prepared to change at a moment notice. Anyways, we got to Vatican and looked for a place to sit, or stand; I mean we weren't exactly sure what was going to happen, so we were open to all posibilities. Megan was at the front of our group and she walked over to a roped off area with chairs, so we all followed her. A man in a CIA style grey-ish suit with dark sunglasses, nodded at us, and we crossed the threshold and took the first available seats. We took up most of the row and were situated directly behind a husband and wife team with two small children (about 2 and 3 years old, if I had to guess.) I eyed them, and hoped they weren't a nuisance during the service. I mean one of the worst things in the world is to have to sit next to a screaming child and not lose your temper.
The kids were actually really well behaved. The smaller of the two was fidgety at first, but he eventually fell asleep on his dad's shoulder, which his arms wrapped around his neck. Mass was in Italian, which made it hard to pay attention to, not to mention it was sweltering, and I was in a black suit. It didn't take me long to lose the jacket, and roll up the sleeves. About three quarters of the way through, I had eaten my snack, drank all my water, and got the urge to pee. I guess I should have prepared for this, but being an American I just sort of assumed that there would be some kind of make shift bathroom facility, ie. a row of smelly port-a-potties that ran out of toilet paper by the fifth client. I searched to my left, to my right, and I attempted to search to my rear, but all I could see was the biggest crown I had ever seen in my entire life. It was like some one jammed all of the inhabitant of Rhode Island into Vatican City, specifically, the square where Mass was taking place.
I cupped my face, and began to rock back and forth wondering what I was going to do. Melinda, was trying not to pay attention to me, but she finally asked, "What's the matter?" I informed her that I had to pee, and she replied with, "Oh brother!" and a cocky roll of the eyes. Melinda had spent enough time with me to know that peeing was no small matter; when I had to go, I had to go. I think it is a family trait, the small bladder, but in any event I am that chick at the bar who pees after every beer and sometimes half way through. Oh, yeah, it's bad. I could never walk int he St. Paddy's Day parade, becuase I would need a pee break every 15-20 minutes, and frankly the diaper thing is gross.
I decided that I was going to ask the man who let us into the seating area if there was a bathroom I could use, but when I approach him, and asked, he didn't reply. He didn't even look in my direction, so I thought hmmm, maybe he didn't understand me, so I tried asking in Spanish, but again nothing. I was pissed and felt like punching him, but I took my seat. When I did, Melinda asked, "Any luck?" I frowned, and replied, "Uhhh, no. The mother fucker thinks he's a Buckingham Palace guard or something. He won't talk, he doesn't even look at you when you speak to him." She started giggling, but quickly swallowed it away and told me to try and hold it because according to her the ceremony was almost over. So I sat there in my seat squirming, and rocking back and forth trying not to think about the fact that my bladder was going to explode.
After about five minutes I couldn't take it any more. I stuffed my blazer into my backpack, changed from a button down into a t-shirt (yes, in the middle of Vatican City, in the middle of Mass), and told Melinda to call me when they finally got out of here. I explained that I was going to make a run for it, and that I would catch up with them later. Before, I made a break for it, I traded shoes with Melinda; she wore a size 10 to my 6, but they were sneakers, and I figured I would have a much easier time running in them compared to flip flops.
At this point everyone was on their feet trying to get a look at the Pope, but I had bigger fish to fry. Cell phone clutched in my right hand, I hurdled the enclosure, and took off running down the cleared walkway. I got to a large group of people in another enclosure, and they were all looking at me like I was a lunatic, and that when I saw them. A band of court jester wannabees, who looked like they just stepped out of a Disney movie, more specifically the Prince and the Pauper (not that I've seen it, but I think it fits) were careening towards me in their orange and blue stripped costumes. I was torn between stopping, dropping to my kness and giving into the fit of laughter that was dying to come out, and the massive urge to pee, that was not only making it hard to run, but had began to burn in my gut. I chose the latter and dove into the crowed of people, pushing, and elbowing my way through to the back. Once I got to the rear of the crowd I ducked under the enclosure, and began running as fast as humanly possible to one of the exits marked by a low stone wall, and a slightly taller wooden fence. I was hauling ass, but Melinda's clod-hoppers were slowing me down and the band of mad men in orange were closing in on me and fast. I was about 50 yeards from the exit, when I decided that I could jump over it without challenged, so I stepped on the accelerator for the last few feet, and then made my jump. It didn't go so badly; I was envisioning myself on a track team jumping hurdles and being presented with a gold medal, but at the last minute my foot got caught and I face planted.
I was in agony, but I had to untangle myself for fear of being arrested my cartoon escapees was humiliating, so I took off the shoes, got up, and took off again. I could hear my bare feet slapping the pavement, and the pain of it was ten times worse, but I was so close to the exit to Vatican City that I couldn't stop. I contemplated stopping just outside the city, but I wasn't sure if the guards had jurisdiction, so I ran about six more blocks before I stopped to catch my breathe. I stopped on the coner in front of this hole in the wall cafe, so after a lot of huffing and puffing, I put my shoes on and went into to ask about a bathroom. They pointed to a door, and I let out the biggest sigh of relief, that is until I saw what was behind the door.
I looked into the dark, damp, room to find one of the oldest toilets on earth. The water in it was slightly orange, and it clearly hadn't been cleaned in a considerable amount of time, like it was used primarily by a man. The stone floor was covered in liquid of unknown origin, and obviously there was no toilet paper, but the most concerning thing was...the toilet lacked a seat. It wasn't up, or hanging off, it just wasn't there; like no one bothered to put one on fromt he beginning. Mindly awestruck I contemplated this mystery for a few seconds when a sharp pain crossed my abdomen reminding me of why I was here. I had to pee, and at this point I was barely holding it, but I had a predicament: pee in the old decrepid nasty toilet or wet myself as there was no way I was making it to another cafe.
Decisions, decisions...
I looked to the heavens, prayed that I wouldn't catch some scary disease in my whoo whoo, dropped the pants, and squatted. I literally peed for four to five whole minutes, a record if I may say so. The entire time I was praying for calf and thigh streangth to keep me up otherwise, my female parts would suffer the wrath of old pee water and various germs that haven't even been identified. Oh, yeah I am serious, I did it. I peed in the ancient toilet, but it wasn't a total loss, as the orange guards, which I later found out are called Swiss Guards, stopped chasing me once I left Vatican City, and I got free gelato from the shop owner in celebration of Easter. Free gelato, and avoiding arrest: a win in my book!!
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