to pee or not to pee

To pee or not to pee? It is a question to which Melissa's puppy and I constantly reach alternative decisions about when we greet each other.

Phoebe (said puppy) is as cute as cute can be, though hasn't quite mastered the fine art of bladder control. But who cares? That's what puppies do, and I'm not the one cleaning up the mess.

Long into our evening together, though, Melissa and I had managed to go through a fast food feast, ample quantities of tea and a movie when we realized we'd also made it through all the toilet paper. Fortunately she lives next to a BP. Which might just go on record as the last time "fortunately" and "BP" ever are found within the same sentence.

It was getting late, but we were pretty sure BPs were some of the few establishments in Sydney that stay open past 5 pm. So, we donned our coats, left the puppy behind and ventured out in the parking lot.

The lights were on, but the door was locked. So was the other door. Then I looked up and saw the cashier waving me over. We walked to where she was and realized that our coats were handy as all our interactions were going to be restricted, jail-like, to what we could communicate through the Plexiglas. Thankfully our needs weren't too elaborate.

"Er, are you open?" we asked.

She nodded.

"Can we, um, buy things from in there?"

She nodded.

"Okay," we said, uncertain as to how precisely we were going to get our products, while visions of toilet paper races from college danced in my head.

Perhaps you were not so fortunate as to experience toilet paper races at college. They were the sort of after-midnight affairs where everyone had had a bit more sugar than entirely necessary from Steak 'n' Shake and suddenly thought it would be a great idea to hold a competition of feeding toilet paper into the central vacuum holes at either end of the hallway and see which side used up an entire roll fastest. The vacuum was quite good and it generally took only a matter of seconds, possibly stretching to a minute. These things had to happen relatively quickly, or at any rate before the Resident Director found out. We were quite adept so he rarely found out during the event, but the cleaners tended to inform him the next day when the vacuums ceased to work. Really, they spoiled all the fun.

But in any event, the point is that, in toilet paper races, the paper product in question is fed, one square at a time, through a fairly small area. I envisioned a similar scene in front of me, and struggled to come up with a satisfactory plan for re-wrapping the paper so that it wouldn't have to return home in a huddled heap. Granted, it probably would have done the trick, but it struck me as significantly less sanitary than the usual method. Being American, I am quite concerned about germs, and even more particular about toilet-related germs. Not that this convinces me to clean my toilet much more frequently than whenever I'm expecting guests, but that's hardly the point: sanitary bathroom procedures are.

"We'd like some toilet paper," we finally told the cashier. She nodded and went off to find some.

Now this was service. Who ever said Australian service isn't up to snuff? You simply tell the cashier what you want and she goes and gets it for you -- like the general stores from Anne of Green Gables' times. I turned to Melissa.

"But how will she know which one you want?" I asked. "Which brand? How many rolls? How many plies? Scented or not? Design or no design? The choices!"

Being slightly more pragmatic, Melissa responded that, it being a BP and an Australia BP at that, the choices were likely to be a bit more limited than I was imagining. I don't know for sure that she was right (oddly enough I haven't been back to BP to check their sanitary supplies), but before long it transpired that our cashier had returned with a four-pack of fairly standard toilet tissue. Seeing as there were only wadded up napkins in the bottom of my purse as an alternative, we were adequately impressed. Still, though, remained the mystery of how to receive the purchase. The cashier looked supremely unflustered regarding this dilemma. She merely placed the toilet paper down and stared at us.

We stared back. Then she gestured down to our right and what to our wondering eyes did appear, but an opening in the counter with our purchase in there! It was one of those ingenious little devices like our drive-through pharmacy back home uses that allows you to obtain your goods without actually moving a muscle. Presumably drive-through pharmacies were not the first to use such devices, but they are my most salient point of reference.

From there, well, the rest is history. We purchased our toilet paper and hurried home to be greeted most energetically by Phoebe, who promptly peed on the floor.

Aye, there's the rub.