When You Gotta Go, and They Tell You, "No."

So, I drive, two hours, straight, between Roanoke and Charlottesville. And, I'm feeling pretty smug and full of myself (literally), because I didn't stop even once--not to fill up my cute, little, blazing red, Jeep Liberty Sport, or to unfill my little, now bursting, middle aged bladder.

I'm proud of myself because, by not stopping, I had "made good time." Also, recently, during long car rides, I've been having contests (OK. I know; stupid contests...) with myself to see if I can "hold it in."

I had an appointment in Charlottesville that I was early for, and I remembered that I had some  banking business to do. "My" bank has several branches in Charlottesville , so I headed directly--and, urgently-- towards a near by Wachovia Bank branch office. I would, make, err, productive use of my time.

Seeing that bank was busy, and that the staff to customer ratio was unfavorable to anything approaching personal service, only intensified the sense of urgency I was feeling. I sensed that it would be difficult to get the attention of a staff person without interrupting someone else's transaction.

Being needy (and desperate) emboldened me. I attempted to catch the eye of a teller between customers, but she seemed to ignore me. I forged on, and stepping up to the counter, said to both the teller and the next customer, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but (turning towards the teller), may I use a rest room, please?"

The teller appeared shocked. Perhaps she would have been more comfortable if I had politely asked, "May I have all your money, please?"

The customer looked down. (Down to the floor? Down, deep into her thoughts? I don't know. But, somewhere "down." I guess she didn't want to look at a woman who would dare to demand to use a bank's lavatory. (Or, a woman who was about to pee on her shoes.)

The teller replied, "We don't have a public rest room."

With sincere panic beginning to rise in my eyes, I countered, "Perhaps you'd prefer not to offer your rest room to the public. And, I'd prefer not to beg to use your rest room. But, I just drove here, from Roanoke, for two hours, without stopping, and I REALLY need to use the bathroom badly."

Ms. Teller, apparently struggling to maintain control, and protect her co-workers, and Wachovia's assets and property from potential ner-do-wells, insisted that, since the rest rooms were located beyond the locked security door, it would not be appropriate to allow me to enter the inter sanctum. I noted that, when similiar incidents had occurred in  other Wachovia branches elsewhere in the past, staffers courteously escorted me to the potty; couldn't that be done in this branch as well?

She suddenly reconsidered, and soon, we both felt relieved. (Well, I know that, at least I did...!)

The incident reminded me so much of the many times that I , an IBS patient, was denied access to a public rest room by a merchant or other business owner, resulting in an unfortunate outcome. The same thing happened to me, once, when I was about eight or nine nonths pregnant with my first baby--and the location was a "convenience" store that was also a 24-hour Greyhound bus station!  And, how many times has the same thing already happened to my three kids, who have IBD, during their young lives?