A few months ago, I wrote about having to submit to a background check in order to continue in my volunteer coaching gig. A drug test is part of the background check process for the organization I volunteer for. Having a big bladder, I held out on the piss test for a while- work has been busy lately, and, like I said, I can "hold my water" like a camel.
Today was the day I could get my ass to the testing center, which is in the vicinity of Union Square. It being a gorgeous September day (September is perhaps the nicest month, weather-wise, in New York State, though May gives it a run for the money), I decided to take a nice walk to Woodlawn station in the Bronx, which is the end of the 4 line, which, along with the 5 train, makes up Manhattan's Lexington Avenue express. Because I knew I had to piss when I got to my destination, I stopped at Artuso's for a tea biscuit and a small coffee. In the interest of full disclosure, I went to high school with the owner. That being said, he's a good guy and he makes some damn fine pastries. While walking past Van Cortlandt Park, I saw a pile of junk by a car bearing a prominent sign saying, "REPENT, JUDGEMENT DAY IS AT HAND". For once, I agreed with this- I was going for a piss test, "judgement day" would probably come in six-to-ten days, as far as my pee was concerned. All the while, I was laughing at the ridiculousness of my errand- the sole reason for my trip to Manhattan was to take a piss- something that I could have done at home, or at any of the restaurants I passed on my walk to the subway, or behind a bush in the park (the area of the park abutting Jerome Avenue is well-wooded).
When I finally got to the testing center, I knew I'd be able to deliver the necessary testing materials, so to speak. I submitted my paperwork and waited anxiously for my name to be called. When my name was called, I proceeded to "Room 1" and waited for the charming lab tech to handle things. She came in and handed me a plastic cup which looked to hold about eight ounces. I took one look at the cup and thought, "What the fuck is this? I piss like a goddam racehorse, I could use a bigger cup... at least something I could dangle my ding-a-ling in when I'm whizzing away. Did Mike Fucking Bloomberg limit the size of piss cups?"
Seriously, it's a pain in the ass when you know you can piss a pint, but you only have a small cup- I basically stood over the bowl and let fly, and, at an appropriate seeming time, moved the cup to intercept the stream. Of course, the goddam cup didn't have a handle- I mean, what the fuck? These people handle thousands of piss tests, you'd think they'd have a nice long handle for their piss cups (and, in interests of "quality control" or "security", you can't flush the toilet or wash your hands until you hand over the cup- I wouldn't have minded the technician watching me handle my business, or holding my dingus and aiming during the process, for that matter). Really, it was a minor pain-in-the-ass but a major turn-off trying to piss in a small cup that you're holding in your hand, knowing full well that you could overfill the damn thing if you're not careful. If I have to do it again, I'll bring a nice wide-mouthed, thirty-two ounce jar to piss in, then transfer the "liquid gold" to the sub-par lab cup.
Anyway, the whole process took a few minutes, and I was able to wash up after handing over the cup. No real mess was involved... I really just wanted to cheap-shot Mayor Bloomberg (ain't I a pisser?). After the test, I stopped at a nearby Turkish restaurant and got an order of "cigarette" börek filled with feta and parsley (sadly, they had no nettle börek) and a kofta kebab sandwich, all washed down with a cup of Turkish coffee as thick and gritty as mud (and super delicious). The day being gorgeous, I decided to walk to Grand Central and hit a couple of bookstores before catching the 4 train home. When I got to 32nd St, I stopped at Mandoo Bar in Little Korea to get a small plate of Korean dumplings to tide me over for the last ten blocks.
It was a weird day, best summed up as "go for the piss, stay for the shopping and dining". That's my analysis... what's your analysis?
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10 comments:
I had to take a pee-test in Manhattan one time. I'd spent the night out carousing. I gave them a perfectly decent cup full of the genuine article, but a week or so later they made me do it again.
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I think we need feedback from Kathleen on this.
Well, in an oddly parallel bicoastal peepee, I was notified that my unit (the one I live in, not the one that lives in my shorts) was due for new water shut-off valves and that the water would be turned off from nine thirty to four thirty and at some point the plumber would come in and set to wrench, clank and crack bidness.
Now look here. My apartment is pretty damn cool, but it's small, in the sense of a one bedroom with an appropriately sized kitchen and about an acre of living room. What freakin zombie designed this thing? But the bathroom is a good ol' fashion one-holer, and I wasn't good with spending the whole day with ONE toilet I couldn't flush. That was likely to become more nasty than it oughta. Just sayin'.
So I ordered a withdrawal from Burlingame, and we retreated north in an orderly fashion to my sister's house where I could not only pee, but flush, and repeat if necessary...
Pee in the tank mikey! Then you can flush the poop in a more disgusting way than normal.
Just last Mon. I went west for upper-middle class medical stuff (piss & blood were involved) & afterward took the opportunity to wander to the beach & then Westwood to take dull pictures.
I don't often leave the bunker, but when I do, I cram in as much "living" as I can.
Mmmm, I'm dreaming of a borek filled with feta and parsley right now....!
My analysis is that Turkish coffee is the best thing ever. Although Korean dumplings could give it a run for the money.
I am appalled at your missing the opportunity to post a link to Mojo Nixon/ Skid Roper's "I ain't gonna piss in no jar". So yea, here ya go.
Hey, I know, it's for a good cause and all. But that's how the fascists make peeing in a cup seem like normal.
It seems like the wheels are coming off the whole bloggerhood.
Which, of course, is entertaining in its own way and serves teh zompocalypse. So carry on, y'all.
fish, get a blog. Sheesh.
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