A Not-Disgusting Story About Urinating, I Promise

I recently got a new job.  Don’t worry: I’m not selling out or anything.  It’s just for two months and I’m only doing it for the money.  That’s not the point.

When I took this job, I had to submit a pre-employment drug screen (as I’m sure most of you have to do as well).  Which I don’t know if I really understand.  Just because someone has drugs in their bloodstream doesn’t mean they can’t perform the duties of their job in a satisfactory fashion.  It just gives you an idea of where most of their paycheck would be going in the first place.  Besides, I think drugs could actually enhance certain jobs.

For instance, waiting tables can get really busy really fast.  You have to be able to keep up with everything happening between you, each table of customers you’re currently waiting on, the food going in and out of the kitchen, drinks coming out of the bar, busboys cleaning off tables for new customers, managers floating around at all times.  You know what would help a person stay on top of all that multitasking?  Cocaine.

Say you have a job that requires your utmost attention and complete uninterrupted focus, such as architecture, or anything in the scientific field: smoke some pot.  Sure, it might have some adverse effects (“Duuuuuude…check out this atom…it’s shaped like Indiana…whoooooooaaa”), but for the most part I think it would still be effective.

On the other hand, I still don’t think alcohol would be very beneficial on the job.  Then again, who knows?  Maybe your boss isn’t really an asshole all the time—maybe he’s just constantly drunk.

But I digress.  Regardless of my feelings about pre-employment drug screens, I still had to submit to one in order to get this new job.  Fine.  It was the ol’ piss-in-a-cup routine.  The day of my appointment, I arrived at the clinic just before 10:00.  A girl who worked at the clinic greeted me:

“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes, I’m here for the drug screen.”
“Okay, just have a seat and I’ll get you ready in a few minutes.”

They had a small waiting area next to the entrance, so I sat down and waited.  Within a few minutes, a girl roughly my age showed up at the clinic.  Overhearing her conversation with the girl at the clinic, she was also here for a drug screen.  Hers would be taken after mine was completed, so she was also sent to the small waiting area.

A few minutes later, and the clinician called me back for the test.  She gave me the cup and sent me into the restroom.  I unbuttoned my pants and stood over the toilet.

Nothing.  Not a single drop.

I tried conjuring up images that visually represented the act of urinating—sprinkler systems, garden hoses, cascading waterfalls—but none of them seemed to help.  After fifteen minutes, I ultimately accepted that it was just not going to happen, and sheepishly stepped out of the restroom with the empty cup.  The clinician kind of chuckled, but said it was okay.  She then said they had a little water cooler out in the waiting area with some plastic cups, and that I could just hang out and drink a few cups of water until I was ready to try again.

Now, I was embarrassed, because not only did I fail to pee for the clinician, but then I had to take that LONG walk of shame over to the water cooler to drink a few cups of water as the other girl waiting watched.  Then, it was her turn.  She went to the back.  I’m sitting in the waiting area, drinking a dinky little cup of water.  Ten minutes later, the girl returns.

And she takes that LONG walk of shame right over to the water cooler.  Now, I’m not going to lie.  My first thought when I saw this was, “Holy shit, it’s my lucky day!” because I had just gone from being in the hole to breakin’ even.  Not only did I fail to pee, but SHE failed to pee too!  Things were lookin’ up!

After a half-hour of awkwardly sitting there and drinking dinky little cups of water, she jumped up with an air of determination, marched up to the clinician, and stated that she was ready to try again.  The clinician took her back, and I continued to sit there.  After ten more minutes, the girl returned.

And she took ANOTHER long walk of shame back to the water cooler.  Only this time, instead of just drinking a couple of dinky little cups of water, she started shotgunning the shit like it was spring break in Cabo where you wake up realizing that the night before you slept with a 4 and not an 8.  She had a plastic cup in each hand, with a look that said, “I wanna get FUCKED UP, in the healthiest way possible!” It was actually kind of frightening.

So frightening, in fact, that as soon as that happened, I went back and successfully completed my drug screen.  I guess you could say she scared the piss outta me. (WAH-WAH-WAH-WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!)

Until next time,

–Riley