My friend has a thing called TMI Tuesdays where she shares a relatively embarrassing story and while I already posted this as a comment to her post I feel the need to post this here for the whole world (well, my whole world) to see:
In early June I was in Croatia with a friend, I was on a bum leg which was in one of those removable walking casts since I broke my ankle in February and had forgotten my purse... I mean my satchel, which had my pain killers in it, at a bar the night before I left Split (a great city you should visit if you're ever in Croatia) so I went and left some money and contact info under the door in the hopes that the bar owner would use it to send my bag to me two cities from then, which he did. Of course we weren't at the place we were staying when the postman brought the bag so I had to go to the post office to pick it up. Ok, so I hop on a bus and it's Friday afternoon, I'm leaving the next day, and the post office isn't open on Saturday. Of course I don't speak any Croatian but the post office left a nice little bilingual card I needed to claim my package so I figured it'd be a breeze, right? After wandering around a 2 block radius where google said the post office would be and asking tons of random people on the street if they knew where it was I finally found it, got in line and there were only a couple people in front of me, great. So waiting in line. You know how they dress eastern European hookers in Hollywood movies? Yeah, that seemed to be the Post Office uniform on a Friday afternoon, except most of these women were a bit more solid than movies' depictions of those hookers and middle aged. So I'm waiting and waiting and my belly starts to rumble and I look around for a bathroom and there is none in the post office and I don't want to leave because then I'll never get my damn bag and the all important opiates that are in it and of course, despite my holding on for dear life, I make a horrible mess in my pants and just want to get my bag and cry all the way home but I know if I show my tears these women will never give up my bag because they can sense weakness, or at least smell it. After torturous minutes by this point I get to the front of the line and I show my card to the woman and she shakes her head, says something in Croatian that I don't understand, and points towards the door. Seeing my completely noncomprehending, dumb American face she yells to her coworker who lets me know I need to go next door and points. So I go to the next door down from the post office and right behind it are two dudes standing behind a counter. Great! I'm almost free to find a bathroom and get as cleaned up as possible and somehow get "home." I show them the card and they just look at me for a while, confused. Finally one of them gets the gist of the card and lets me know in some combination of English, hand gestures, and Croatian, that "No, not here, next door!" Exasperated I say, "I just came from there. They sent me here." "No, the other way, keep going." So I try door number three, it looks like the place. There's a window with a woman in the same sort of uniform standing behind a little window, there are packages behind her. I KNEW DOOR NUMBER THREE WOULD WORK! Finally! Show her the card and she shakes her head, which almost makes me collapse at the sheer insanity of a bureaucracy run by middle-aged prostitutes with almost no signage, not even in Croatian, when she points to a small, unassuming door behind me. Relieved she did not see me collapse I quickly step into this new rabbit hole where there are many more women, all wearing the Friday afternoon Post Office uniform who proceed to search for ten minutes for my package before they finally find it. I quickly opened up the box, found my bag, found the pain meds and took one. I have never been so happy despite the crap in my pants as I was at that moment.
That thing Burroughs talks about needing "the surgical equivalent of an apple corer" to take a dump while on opiates and the reverse when going through opiate withdrawal is true.
#nevergothroughopiatewithdrawalwhiletraveling
That thing Burroughs talks about needing "the surgical equivalent of an apple corer" to take a dump while on opiates and the reverse when going through opiate withdrawal is true.
#nevergothroughopiatewithdrawalwhiletraveling
