Peeing

I just learned from a friend that if you pee in your plane seat before the doors get closed, the airline is bound by regulation to replace said seat before the plane can take off. No one is going anywhere anytime soon. I’m not sure exactly what about that information delights me so; surely, I wouldn’t be delighted to sit next to the peeing passenger or be a flight mate forced to spend the night in the airport hotel. Who knows, maybe it was a small child who peed. That would make sense. Or maybe some guy just couldn’t make his way to the back in time. Maybe he was elderly. Or had some sort of urinary tract infection. I can imagine someone telling a surprisingly funny joke, bringing their seatmate to tears. “You made me pee, you bastard!” But nothing about peeing in your seat is funny, really, when you get down to it. What if your fear of flying had risen to a fever pitch? What if you couldn’t get the thought of crashing out of your mind? You know you have to pee, badly, but the fear freezes you to your seat. Maybe you begin spiraling down a rabbit hole of worry, body wrapped up in spasm, and, maybe, the letting go of that paralysis, its release, feels incredibly freeing. It takes a moment to realize that warm sensation isn’t just relief but warm piss now pooling in your seat, seeping up your thighs. And there’s no way anyone is going to get you to open your eyes now.