Bladder Control

My trip back to Manila from Baguio began with what seemed like a violent rebellion, similar to what is ongoing in Libya. 

When people started filing into the deluxe bus—with comfort room—the stewardess announced, “Sorry, Ma'am, Sir, the comfort room is out of order.

“WHAAAAT?!”  “x*&x+*#z!!!” A loud howl from all the passengers.

“Victory Liner will refund P100, Ma'am, Sir . . .”

“x*&x+*#z!!!”  in accelerating crescendo. 

We were helpless at that point.  The buses on schedule that day and the next were already fully booked. 

“Okay,” one sensible man suggested, “the bus should stop by a gas station whenever necessary!”

Everyone agreed and so we, seething still, took our seats.  I put my tired feet up and tried to be as comfortable (!) as possible.  

But it was my misfortune (more like a cruel joke) to be seated in front of the comfort room and all through the five-hour ride, the “out of order” sign was right smack at my eye level.

 

Traveling on a public bus takes a lot of bladder control, if you are taking prescription pills with diuretics.

Well, everyone who took the bus for the same reason I did, managed pretty well. Two pit stops and the groaning stopped.

It was a safe, scenic ride all the way and every once in a while, I'd softly sing the hymn printed on the UCCP Church Bulletin which I kept after the morning service before my trip. It was to remind me that there are more important things in life than fretting about a sudden hiccup. 

“O Jesus, Thou hast promised to all who follow Thee,
That where Thou art in glory, there shall Thy servant be;
And, Jesus, I have promised to serve Thee to the end;
O give me grace to follow my Master and my Friend!”

It was comforting (pun intended) to find Tony at the bus depot, who, as usual, half listened to my impassioned narration of the passengers' woes about the busted comfort room. 

"So how did the affair in Baguio go?"  he asked instead.

(Oooops, I should really be blogging about that, not this. Next post, I promise.)