When ya gotta go . . .

Every once in awhile I push my bladder to the limit. I get wrapped up in something, I'm lazy, or just don't have the opportunity to take care of business. Sometimes, once I realize my situation has become dire, I think I could go anywhere. Apparently, my taxi driver had reached such an apex of discomfort today. I hopped a taxi from KBS to my dentist's office this afternoon and about five minutes into the ride noticed that the surroundings were quite peaceful. The car radio was turned off, not spewing the typical array of dubious American covers. Traffic was decent so the cacophony of honking horns was muted to a tolerable level. Quite peaceful, indeed, and a good opportunity to catch up on some reading. I was knee-deep in the letters section of the latest National Geographic when I detected a curious sound coming from the front seat. It sounded like liquid being poured onto plastic. That's when I noticed that Mr. Taxidriver's hands weren't on the wheel. His arms were clearly positioned somewhere in his lap and as he casually looked around, scoping out the nondescript apartment buildings and neon signs outside the car, I came to the shocking realization that he was, in deed, relieving himself. I was utterly nonplussed. As I sat there considering whether this was a weird Korea thing, or just a weird thing, I couldn't decide whether to feel violated, humored, or disgusted. I settled on something involving all three. I think it was the utter nonchalance Mr. Taxidriver demonstrated that most appalled me. Some people have difficulty letting loose in a bathroom if they know people outside the door may be able to hear. This guy had no such qualms. As he completed the task and buttoned up, I just returned to my National Geographic and thought, "At least he didn't have to go number two."