‘Call when you get there,’ said her mum.
‘No, because if I forget you’ll have air-sea rescue out after me. If you don’t hear anything then I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ With that she got in the car and set off for Scotland.
The first couple of hours went well. The satnav was helpful, Stan was quiet and there were no traffic jams. She’d eaten three packets of crisps, sung her heart out to Taylor Swift, Mariah Carey and McFly, drunk two of the cans and now she was more than a bit bored. She’d been driving for two hours. It was dark and she was still on the M6 and quite fed up with the monotony of it now. Seeing theWelcome To Scotlandsign was exciting but when she saw how far she still had to go, that excitement soon evaporated. She tried a game of I-Spy with Stan, but sadly he proved quite useless.
A few more miles and the effect of the cola was starting to make her need a wee. She could see the petrol gauge steadily declining so started to plan her pit stop like a formula one driver. She wanted to get to Loch Lochy as quickly as possible. Liv decided that a one-stop strategy at roughly the halfway, or three-hour point, would be her best option.
Whilst her strategy might have been sound, she hadn’t considered the possibility that her bladder would feel like an overfilled water balloon. But she was determined to hold out and now saw it as a challenge. She pressed buttons on the satnav in the hope of finding a nearby services. The next one on the route was near Glasgow and another twenty-four minutes away – there was no way she was going to make that. But there was a garage two miles from the next exit, which would have to do.
She swung onto the garage forecourt like a getaway driver. Then had the dilemma of whether she should use the loo first and then fill up with petrol. Many loos were designated for customers only, and a discussion would only delay her getting to the toilet. She decided she would bung some fuel in and then make a dash for the loo.
Cross-legged, she stuck the nozzle in the car and squeezed the handle at the same time she squeezed her pelvic floor muscles, hoping that they’d hold. The slosh of liquid exiting the nozzle did not help. She watched the numbers on the pump whizz up. How much petrol did this car take? She couldn’t wait any longer, that would have to do. She returned the nozzle and as quickly as her full bladder would allow she made it into the garage shop.
There were a couple of people in the queue – she couldn’t wait. She’d got some petrol even if she hadn’t paid yet so she weaved her way through the aisles as ‘Christmas Wrapping’ by The Waitresses blared out. She followed the maze of shelves until she came to a printed sign and an arrow that said ‘Toilet’. She felt like an explorer on the cusp of her quest. A few more steps and she could see the loo but she could also see a sign on the door that said, ‘Out of Order’. Nooooooo!
Liv looked in all directions for inspiration. She had no more contingency plans left and definitely did not have time to go back to the car and find the next services. She had to go here. Liv tried the loo door and it opened. She dashed inside and locked it. There was a toilet and a sink. What was the worst that could happen? She lifted the lid, sat down and had the biggest wee of her life. The relief was immense. She also felt like a bit of a hero for completing her mission of a single pit stop without wetting herself in the process. She was winning at life today.
Liv was surprised and grateful that the flush worked – clearly not out of order at all. They probably just didn’t want people using it. She washed her hands, unlocked the door and went to leave the cubicle. That was when she discovered why the toilet was out of order. The handle on the inside of the door was all floppy and had no impact at all. She tried it a few times but the door remained firmly closed. She locked and then unlocked the door. Liv tried the handle again – nothing. She put all her strength on the door handle and it came away in her hand. She was trapped.
4
Liv couldn’t believe her master plan had been derailed by a toilet. Was she ever going to make it to Loch Lochy? She’d been calling for help for ages, and had now reached shouting stage, but nobody had come to rescue her. The music was still blaring out so it was likely they couldn’t hear her shouts. At least she had her phone so decided to see if she could work out where she was exactly and call the garage. She put the toilet lid down. If she was going to be a while she might as well sit down.
It wasn’t the nicest place to be trapped. It was a bit smelly and small with dark grey walls scrawled with graffiti such as ‘One star – wouldn’t pee here again’ and ‘Banksy woz ere’. The latter she very much doubted. But at least she had a loo and a sink so she figured she could survive quite a while if she had to. She was scrolling through garages near Glasgow when the door suddenly opened and she jumped to her feet. She was saved by a rotund man in an egg-stained T-shirt – not exactly a knight in shining armour, but he’d do.
‘Pump four?’ asked the man in a thick Scottish accent.
‘Sorry?’
‘Are you pump four?’ He pointed over his shoulder. Liv had almost forgotten that she’d filled up with petrol.
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve not paid.’ He scowled at her.
‘Because I was locked in your toilet.’ She didn’t like being unjustly accused of something.
‘Can ya not read?’ He rapped a knuckle on the sign.
‘I thought it meant the toilet, not the door. And it was somewhat of an emergency. Anyway, this has delayed me for a very important meeting.’ She strode past him with as much dignity as she could muster.
‘You’ve not paid,’ he yelled after her.
‘I’m going to pay now!’ she yelled back as she rummaged in her bag for her debit card.
She went to stand by the till point and waited for the large man to squeeze himself behind the counter. He came to stand the other side of the counter but said nothing. There was an odd moment where they looked at each other, expecting the other person to do something. At last he spoke. ‘What pump?’
Liv put her hands in the air.
‘Number four,obviously.’
He grumbled something inaudible. She paid with a wave of her card.
‘Thank you so much. It’s been lovely to meet you,’ she said. ‘And this is yours,’ she added placing the toilet door handle on the counter.
‘For crying oot loud!’ he grumbled. ‘I should charge you for vandalising my loo!’
‘Sorry,’ she said, and she walked out wishing now that she had left something floating in his toilet.
