Posted by Tip T on December 03, 1998 at 07:43
Last summer two friends and I dared each other to write a true story and post it here. My roommate posted hers about a month ago and has been bugging me ever since. So, to get her off my back, here goes;
I always hated Physical Education at school. The Physical Education teacher never liked me. That did not make for a good combination. Everyone in our school was required to take a required number of hours of P.E. to graduate. Tennis was the sport being taught in the spring of my senior year. I have never been good at any sport where a ball was involved and tennis was probably my least favotite one. After thoroughly embarassing myself with the racquet a few times I decided that cutting the class was a good option. A note home to my parents ended that. My next ploy was to show up late so I wouldn't get picked on as an example of how not to do it. I had a free period prior to Phys Ed and as co-editor of the school paper used the time to work on that. I was able to get away with that as an excuse a few times but I kept getting later and later.
Finally, the P.E. teacher took matters into her own hands and told me the next time I was late she was going to fail me and proceeded to write up a warning for my file. If I failed P.E. that meant I wouldn't graduate and would be in big trouble with my parents.
During Easter break I was involved in a minor car accident. I convinced the doctor to give me an excuse to miss P.E. for two weeks. Even though I knew when I was scheduled to go back to P.E. I had actually forgotten the threat to flunk me if I was late again. On the day I was due back in class I was talking to the advisor for the paper when I heard the warning bell. (That's a bell that rings two minutes before the the final bell) For some reason that bell was a reminder. I took off running for the locker room, throwing my books on the floor as I stripped off my jeans and pulled on my gym shorts. I grabbed my sneaks and racquet and ran into the gym just as the bell sounded. The teacher glared at me for a few seconds and then went on to explain the lesson for the day. I put on my sneaks breathing a sigh of relief as she did. It was short lived. Once out at the tennis courts I was selected as the first "pupil" I could have guessed that was going to happen. The drill was for her to hit balls to me while I stood up at the net. I was to hit five of them back to her and then someone else would take my place. I missed the first three or four with the rest of the class laughing behind me. At about that time I wanted to use the racquet to kill the teacher. I have no idea how many balls she hit to me before I hit my required five. Again, I breathed a sigh of relief. Again, it was short lived. I was "selected" to be a ball retriever by the teacher. I was told to stand behind her, pick up the stray balls hit by the others, return them to her and then go back and wait for more balls. It was while I was just standing there that I realized that I had not been to the bathroom since before lunch. Up to then I had been so focused on what I was doing that I was unaware of this primary need. Now it was very evident to me. Every time I bent over to pick up a ball it became more evident. After filling the basket the first time and taking it to her I asked if I could go to the locker room. She started shaking her head "no" as soon as I opened my mouth. Knowing I couldn't leave the courts now put psychological pressure on me. Walking, taking small steps, helped relieve the physical pressure on my bladder. Bending over to pick up the balls was agony. Then I heard my name called. I was to get my racquet and hit more balls. I looked at the teacher and rolled my eyes at her. I guess that got her mad because she then yelled at me to "move my butt!". I could hardly walk let alone run. I had to go soooo bad! I got my racquet and stood at the net again but I was afraid to move too quicky. Afraid it would be all over. The pee, that is, all over the court. So I just half heartedly swung the racquet at the passing balls, not moving my feet at all. The teacher was now fuming. I don't think I hit any and I was soon relegated back to retrieving balls. Another sigh of relief as I felt I had limited my embarassment to just my tennis playing. Again, it was short lived. There was a concentration of balls over in one corner of the court. Rather than to go through the agony of bending over to pick them up, I squatted. OOOPS! Big squirt. "Oh my God!" I though to myself. I didn't know what to do. It was like I was frozen solid, on that spot. I was afraid to get up for two reasons. #1) I was afraid if I got up I would squirt again. #2) I didn't want anyone to see the big dark gray stain I could see between my legs. I became unfrozen when the teacher screamed at me to bring her some balls. I jumped up and as I did, fear #1 became a reality. Another big squirt. Drips on the court as well. I took a few short steps towards her and stopped. I could feel my pee starting to seep out of me. Then the teacher yelled "What's WRONG with you!" As she did I started walking towards her and the pee started flowing out from between my legs. She stood there, her eyes bugging out of her head and her mouth partly open. As I handed her the basket of balls I looked right at her and yelled in her face "I HATE P.E.!". Then I walked off the courts with pee still dripping from my shorts.
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