Late August 2001
I wanted to get out of Dublin. Buses were running to Galway every hour. I'd planned on going to Kilkenny, but had missed the departure. I was in a pub across the street from the station. A bus would be leaving in a few minutes, and another an hour after that... enough time for three pints. I wrote in a notebook, in a little room to the side of the entrance.
I'd never ridden Bus Éireann before. There aren't any toilets onboard. I'd peed before I left the pub, but three pints is three pints. Alcohol is a diuretic, for those who've never had a glass of beer. Three pints. With no toilet for.... How long is that? It doesn't matter. I couldn't make it. I think it's a two-hour trip. That's not long, considering that you're crossing the whole country. But it's a long time when you really, really have to pee. I almost pissed myself. I was looking around for a bottle rolling around, anything. I was considering any possibility. I went and talked to the bus driver.
The driver pointed out that it was my fault I'd had those beers, but he did say that the bus would be stopping in such-and-such a village, and he would wait for me. We stopped in a gravel parking area beside the road there, and some passengers deboarded. I walked up to a building ahead of the bus, and peed behind the wall of a garage.
I had to pee again before we got to Galway, but it wasn't as bad this time.