Skip to content

Fuck Politeness

This is a revolution, not a public relations movement

K, so this tells me I’ll tell any story I think is funny and I have no shame.

I caught the train up to the Coast (as I am wont to do on the odd occassion) and I really REALLY needed the toilet. I also really REALLY needed some sleep, and maybe a higher paying job, but peeing was the first priority.

 In keeping with mine and my boyfriend’s dare of using the phrase “WEE WEE” more in public (??) I thought in my hysterical tiredness and need, to pee I might end up screaming in frustration “I NEED TO WEE WEE” at all the commuters blocking me into my seat.

But…they got off the train, and I thought “Well, this is a nice shiny new train, let’s investigate the facilities”. When I got to the toilet there were two dreggy bogan drink-on-the-train-from-brown-paper-bag-types lurking RIGHT OUTSIDE THE DOOR. But I really really needed to wee wee.

So I did, fuck it, I did. And then I realised that there was no FUCKING toilet paper. I was a bit distraught. I thought I’d sit for a while hoping for some to just materialise, but when that didn’t happen, I started plotting. I squinted at the sink in the corner, and judged the distance. Right, I thought, the best thing to do would be to you know, dab at yourself with your hands, then shuffle over to the sink, pants down, hoping the door doesn’t fly open, and wash, wash, WASH your hands. So I do…

Except of course I get there, and no goddamned fucking water comes out of the bastard of a tap. WHAT??? Wee hands and no water!!???

I just…WHAT?? So I’m standing there, no water, no paper, no bag with me (left it with my son) very few resources (I’m a resourceful girl, but really, there was nothing to be done!) and WEE HANDS dammit!

So…I just kinda waved them backwards and forwards in some kinda Hare Krishna dance imitation (except I guess Hare’s would look a little less mortified by their dancing) hoping they’d you know…be dry, and not be wee hands anymore. Or not smell like wee hands. Or that you know, on the third wave time would be reversed and I’d be back in my seat busting for the loo, but knowing better this time around. No? Shit.

So I had to exit, PAST the bogan guys, wondering if I smelled like wee wee, down the corridor, to sit. With wee hands.

My family thought this story was not funny at all, only gross. My wonderful friend who invented the concept of “ice cream hands” (much, MUCH more appealling than wee hands) thought it was hilarious, and my boyfriend laughed, though I notice he hasn’t slept over since then!

My little sister laughed when I said I was temporarily worried about osmosis and she proclaimed “Wee hands forever” in a way that was meant to indicate horror, but sounded more like some slogan of the French Revolution (“Oui hands” perhaps??). Oh dear GOD this reads as proof I should’ve been in bed hours ago.



%d bloggers like this: