::A Geek in Korea::

After the shopping trip, we went to another Chinese restaurant. In an offer to quell the source of the revolution, AKA, that uppity foreigner with the Korean wife, the Chinese guide bought me my own bottle of extra strong Chinese alcohol. This was 56% alcohol, so 112 proof? It smelled bad enough that an open shot left on a table would have people gagging next to you. The bottle was a green that is usually reserved for poison. He was trying to get me drunk so I wouldn’t bring about any more suggestions to the tour plan.

No matter the consequences, I did drink the alcohol. One shot was usually accompanied by about a cup of jasmine tea to get my taste buds back to functional levels. Between the alcohol, the tea, and the meal, I injested a lot of water. I had also finished an entire 500 ml water bottle, and another plastic water bottle between all the stops we made at the different locations. I was keeping hydrated to stave off a hangover from dehydration. It turned out, I was a little too hydrated for the ride back into town.

I had gone to the bathroom once during the meal. When we got back into the bus, I was thinking we were going on another short trip to the Chinese “Opera house” I had so desperately wanted to avoid. It turns out it was over an hours ride through heavy traffic to this Opera house. Bumpy roads. Rain. Suddenly, the urge to urinate burned in my bladder so fiercely that I was afraid. I wasn’t going to make it off the bus with clean pants without a miracle.

I did my Zen “There is no need for a bathroom” meditation I reserve for the most dire of times. While it cut my urges a little, the bumpy traffic made me want to let go. It was a mental and physical struggle. I looked at my options.

1. Piss all over myself and have everyone see: Last resort
2. Piss on someone else: Only moderately better, still to be avoided
3. Somehow hold it: Impossible
4. Somehow piss secretly while still on the bus, smuggle out the piss, and let no one know: Best course of action

I alerted my wife to my situation. She offered a little bit of hope by pulling out the empty water bottle the bus driver had give us at the beginning of the day. A small bottle, with a small neck. How would I possibly use this without a disaster occuring? I thought that this was as good as I was going to get, but then I remembered my own 500 ml camping water bottle with a large neck. It’s almost as if it was made for peeing in.

I scouted out a location in the back of the bus. There was a family two rows up from the back of the bus, but no one else behind them. We were second to last. I moved my seat the end of the bus, which unfortunately sat in plain view of the large windows on the bus. I hurried to cover the windows, then went to work thinking about the physics and logistics of the undertaking I was about to do. I had gotten the attention of the mother of the family as I walked pass, but she turned and looked away as I started clawing at the windows for some privacy. Who knows what she was thinking about what I was going to do.
My wife, bless her heart, went to the back of the bus with her large trench coat. Instead of lone pervert in the back of the bus, she offered some privacy for me as she blocked the view of the mother with her jacket. The woman kept her head turned around, facing the front of the bus thinking I was probably doing something entirely different with her in the back of the bus. Either way, I still looked bad, but this was an emergency. There was no time to waste.
I never had been in a situation where I could quanitatively measure the output of what I usually do in the privacy of a bathroom before. I think that since I filled up the entire 500 ml camping bottle, I had proof that I was clearly a desperate man. In fact, I could have filled up the second bottle I had with me at the time, but luckily I had released enough pressure that I was able to wait until I reached the Chinese Opera house. I was actually strangely proud of my accomplishment, as I filled the entire bottle.

I ran to the bathroom at the Opera house, disposed of my evidence, then went to work cleaning the bottle. It will be forever tainted, no matter how many times I wash and sterilize it. The smell, oddly enough, wasn’t the ammonia smell of urine at all, but the harsh tequila smell of hard alcohol. Whatever it was that the Chinese tour guide had bought me, it passed through my system completely untouched. It was as potent as piss as it was as alcohol. I probably sterilized my bottle at the same time as I filled it up. Awful, nasty Chinese alcohol. I always regret drinking the vile stuff, but it’s probably for the best I wasn’t entirely sober for the Chinese Opera that would follow.