Posted by Donnie on September 12, 2000 at 15:33
Submitted for your approval, a story about an unfortunate young woman and her desparation to use a toilet, while riding home on the New York Subway.
PART ONE
"Ahh, homeward bound," Francine sighed as the #5 subway pulled into Franklin Avenue station. In less than an hour, the train would carry her from central Brooklyn to her neighborhood in the upper Bronx. It was rush hour, so the train would run express most of the way to Dyre Avenue.
The first day on her new job had gone very well, and Francine hoped that she would stay with the law firm for a while. The only downside so far was the longer commute; she'd last worked near Lincoln Center in Manhattan. But at least she could take one train straight through, instead of two or three. Also, from where she boarded in the afternoon, she would always be able to get a seat. The east side IRT subway lines were jam-packed by the time they got to Brooklyn Bridge, and stayed that way far into the Bronx.
Francine's train that evening consisted of older cars called "Redbirds." The beloved cars, soon to be retired, were faster than the new silver trains and would shave a few minutes off the trip. (Unless there were major delays.) She sat in a gray longitudinal bench, close to some doors (but not too close). She pulled the latest issue of "Jane" magazine out of her briefcase and settled in for the long ride. A lifelong subway rider, she knew all the stops on the line and where the crowds would come on. At the first stop, Atlantic Avenue (a major tranfer point), the train began to fill up; even more got on at the third stop, Borough Hall. Francine buried her face in the magazine as the train plunged under the East River.
As usual, the train became full in the Financial District. Crowding was so bad, they sat at Fulton Street for over a minute. "One more stop," thought Francine, "and we'll be flying up the east side." As the train left Brooklyn Bridge to begin the Mahattan express run, she felt a familiar sensation in her abdomen. It was time for her evening bowel movement - and she was more than 200 blocks from home! Francine realized that she'd worked a half-hour later than before, and was much further away from home. "No problem," she thought, "I can hold it." But home was some forty minutes away, and publc toilets are rare in New York City.
"I'm a big girl." She set the idea in her mind.
"I will hold it." The hard plastic seat would help her with pressure, if things got bad.
The Redbirds roared through the Lower East Side and East Village, making the next stop at 14th Street. This station was on a very sharp curve; gap fillers extended from the platform to meet the train doors. Once more, they were delayed by the crowds, and again when the gap fillers failed to retract! Francine began to worry, but after a few minutes the #5 began its ascent through midtown...and the pressure on her bowels began to increase.
There used to be restrooms in the major subway stations; now, most of them were closed, and the ones that remained were filthy. Francine thought about getting off at the next stop, 42nd Street, exiting the subway, and using the ladies' room at Grand Central Terminal. However, she would lose time, then have to stand on the subway all the way to East 180th Street. Ohh, but she had to go so bad...As the train rounded the bend to Grand Central, she almost got up, but then decided to stick it out.
North of 42nd Street, the express tracks descended to a lower level for the run through the posh Upper East Side. There were stops at 59th and 86th Streets, but Francine was unfamiliar with those neighborhoods, and didn't want to risk being caught short. Near 86th Street she began to panic as her movement pushed down into her colon. Clenching her sphincter muscles, she resolved to make it to Dyre Avenue.
So far, the train had had only minor delays, and the speedy Redbirds made up lost time. But then, they came to a full stop in the tunnel south of 125th Street. "Oh, NO!" Francine screamed mentally. "Not now...oh, please!" The conductor announced that a #4 train was stopped in the station ahead with a sick passenger, and that their #5 would be moving as soon as possible. Francine realized that there might soon be a sick passenger on her train - mainly herself.
Ten mminutes passed before the #4 cleared 125th Street and the #5 pulled in. Again, Francine thought about getting off. NO WAY! An Irish girl like herself wouldn't be caught dead in Harlem, bathroom emergency or not. The cramps grew stronger as the train passed under the Harlem River into the Bronx. Home and a toilet were about 25 minutes away.
Suddenly, as the train pulled into 138th Street, the pain subsided, and Francine felt a little relieved. Perhaps she'd make it after all, if she was careful. But she'd been sitting the whole time...what would happen when she stood to get off at Dyre Avenue? She was pondering on this when the train took a sudden lurch to the left. A nasty S-curve lay on the line between 138th and 149th Streets - and in her reverie Francine had forgotten it! The skinny brunette nearly fell off the seat; she righted herself, but in the process relaxed her sphincter muscles. She tried to clench again, but it was too late, and Francine was horrified as she started to mess herself on a crowded New York City subway train...
END of PART ONE