I’ve woken up to find someone vigorously mopping with the kind of angry violence associated with a gangland turf war. Something is banging behind my eyes and I while I try to sleep it off the watery slap of the squeegee isn’t helping. I’m in a stinking mood, but so is The Cat who comes storming in a few minutes later.
“You urinated in the door room last night” she scolds.
“NO I FUCKING DIDN’T!” I angrily respond, totally aghast at the accusation. “FUCK OFF?” Comes my indignant yet questioning defence.
“Randi saw you”, she flatly replies, eyebrow raised.
Oh.
Suddenly I’ve become a hostel story. Like the infamous shit fairy who shat on her pillow dressed as Tinkerbell, then slept in it. Like the 50-year-old women who lay about drunk and naked, then forced herself on a hostel staff member. Like the guy who enjoyed climbing into the wrong bed every night and cuddle up with the current occupier. I’m the guy who pissed in a dorm room.
“Maybe try not to drink so much” chides the hostel owner sometime later. He explains they’ve moved the chap who saw me because he feels “uncomfortable”. How do they think I feel? Profuse, groveling apologies will do little for my severely dented pride. It’s not like I set out to wake up and piss all over the dorm room floor. I will never live this down in hostel-land. It will haunt me forever.
“Hi I’m Stuart.”
“Oh so youuuuuu’re Stuart.” Accompanied by a knowing nod, the recommendation of incontinence pads and hysterical laughter.
It hasn’t been going well for me here of late and I’m short of a few friends. I generally don’t have a problem making them on my travels, but for some reason I’m struggling here. Now I’ve just given then more ammunition to snigger with behind my back, (or to my face, yeah, hilarious), and it literally takes me the entire day to work up the courage to leave my room. I’ve a lengthy history of night terrors, sleep paralysis and sleep-walking, but I’ve never urinated while unconcious. Well. Yeah. It might’ve happened once before. The problem is, how on earth would I know about it?
So I need to cheer myself up, which I do by attending another massive party. Perhaps a little irresponsible given the current circumstances, but nonetheless, against all odds, I have, for once, one of the best nights out I’ve ever had. This culminates in meeting, albeit briefly, a goddess of a woman. After she approaches to talk to me, I’ve only had time to slip into her hand my contact details, she’s kissed me affectionately on both cheeks, before vanishing into the night. I didn’t even manage to get her name, but I make it home a happy man, and spend twenty minutes ensuring I have nothing left in the bladder before I go to bed. I convince myself today could have been a hell of a lot worse, and hope to high heaven I don’t wake up tomorrow with a knife in my hand and blood all over the sheets. I contemplate sprinkling drawing pins by my bedside.
Pissing in dorm rooms
I’ve woken up to find someone vigorously mopping with the kind of angry violence associated with a gangland turf war. Something is banging behind my eyes and I while I try to sleep it off the watery slap of the squeegee isn’t helping. I’m in a stinking mood, but so is The Cat who comes storming in a few minutes later.
“You urinated in the door room last night” she scolds.
“NO I FUCKING DIDN’T!” I angrily respond, totally aghast at the accusation. “FUCK OFF?” Comes my indignant yet questioning defence.
“Randi saw you”, she flatly replies, eyebrow raised.
Oh.
Suddenly I’ve become a hostel story. Like the infamous shit fairy who shat on her pillow dressed as Tinkerbell, then slept in it. Like the 50-year-old women who lay about drunk and naked, then forced herself on a hostel staff member. Like the guy who enjoyed climbing into the wrong bed every night and cuddle up with the current occupier. I’m the guy who pissed in a dorm room.
“Maybe try not to drink so much” chides the hostel owner sometime later. He explains they’ve moved the chap who saw me because he feels “uncomfortable”. How do they think I feel? Profuse, groveling apologies will do little for my severely dented pride. It’s not like I set out to wake up and piss all over the dorm room floor. I will never live this down in hostel-land. It will haunt me forever.
“Hi I’m Stuart.”
“Oh so youuuuuu’re Stuart.” Accompanied by a knowing nod, the recommendation of incontinence pads and hysterical laughter.
It hasn’t been going well for me here of late and I’m short of a few friends. I generally don’t have a problem making them on my travels, but for some reason I’m struggling here. Now I’ve just given then more ammunition to snigger with behind my back, (or to my face, yeah, hilarious), and it literally takes me the entire day to work up the courage to leave my room. I’ve a lengthy history of night terrors, sleep paralysis and sleep-walking, but I’ve never urinated while unconcious. Well. Yeah. It might’ve happened once before. The problem is, how on earth would I know about it?
So I need to cheer myself up, which I do by attending another massive party. Perhaps a little irresponsible given the current circumstances, but nonetheless, against all odds, I have, for once, one of the best nights out I’ve ever had. This culminates in meeting, albeit briefly, a goddess of a woman. After she approaches to talk to me, I’ve only had time to slip into her hand my contact details, she’s kissed me affectionately on both cheeks, before vanishing into the night. I didn’t even manage to get her name, but I make it home a happy man, and spend twenty minutes ensuring I have nothing left in the bladder before I go to bed. I convince myself today could have been a hell of a lot worse, and hope to high heaven I don’t wake up tomorrow with a knife in my hand and blood all over the sheets. I contemplate sprinkling drawing pins by my bedside.