Storytime part II

Again, these might be one of those 'you had to be there' things, but we'll see.
Today's story is called Viva Espana: our semester abroad. But I couldn't choose just one story from the best four months of my life, so you'll have to read a double edition today. Spain rules, everyone should live there for awhile. And my kids are definitely studying abroad someday.


1. A close encounter with Spanish jail:

During one of our numerous weekend trips Hannah, our friend Amber, and myself decided to explore Sevilla--a beautiful southern city in Spain. During a typical night out we found a cute little patio bar that suited our fancy. We sat down and breathed the fresh Spanish air, enjoying life to its fullest. Our waiter came up to us and he was a big burly Spaniard with an attitude problem. We requested our standard: Red Bull y Vodka [but in Spanish you have to say Wodka because they switch the V's and W's.]
I'm sure our Missouri-spin on Spanish was laughable to the locals---not to mention that I only took ONE basic Spanish class before hopping on the plane to my doom. Bad Attitude Man scurried off to get our drinks and I swear he grinned a devilish grin as he left. Upon his return we noticed that something was horribly wrong with our cocktails: whatever this concoction was, it was NOT Red Bull y Vodka. We struggled to form a few inquisitive sentences and he fired right back at us with his fast, fluent Spanish.

As he walked away we all just stared at each other and figured out that our drinks were VERMOUTH and Vodka. Yes, you read that right: two hard core liquors mixed together in a glass. I suppose he misunderstood us but regardless--he was not willing to get us a new drink. We each tried to sip this lethal mix but it was impossible: dry heaves, watery eyes, and coughing followed every attempt. I promise you that it tasted like pure gasoline with a hint of stomach acid.....and a pinch of death.

What happened next is a bit of a blur. We realized we did not even have enough pasetas [this was before the Euro in Spain] to cover our disgusting drinks. We were annoyed with Bad Attitude Man. And we were in the great Spanish outdoors....with an option to run. And on the count of three we pushed our chairs back and started to sprint away, but not before my legs got stuck under the stupid table. I managed to free myself and caught up with my girls, who the locals had noticed by now---and were yelling some obscenities in our direction.

I could almost feel Bad Attitude Man's fat hands on my shoulder, pulling me back and screaming at me. I could imagine the Policia capturing us three American renegades and throwing us into the dungeons of Spanish jail FOREVER. The phone call to my parents was already mapped out in my head when I realized that we just escaped our death! Bad Attitude Man was nowhere in sight, and neither were the angry locals. We were incredibly out of breath [not exactly in the best of shape at this time of my life] and delirious from our little debacle. And we did what any group of college girls would do: we found another bar and ordered the RIGHT drink this time. All three of us had nightmares that night about Spaniards chasing us through the streets. Serves us right, I know. But at least it makes for a good story!




2. Easter is all fun and games until your bladder explodes :

During our 2 week long Spring Break Hannah, Lindsey, Kristen, and myself decided to hit both the Canary Islands and then Rome, Italy. Since our Spring Break fell over Easter weekend we figured we should attend Easter Mass at St. Peter's Square. It was mad chaos like this:


We got there early enough to secure a great seat but not before I chugged two Diet Cokes and some water. I was parched, okay? I thought nothing of it but hold onto this piece of information. Pope John Paul II was still in power and he wasn't doing so hot in 2001....but he still threw down his message in about 10 different languages. Hannah and I are not Catholic but it was definitely a cool experience.

Approximately two hours into the mass I decided I had to pee. I looked around and saw thousands of people immersed in the message and I just couldn't do it. So I waited a little while longer. Surely this mass wouldn't take all day, right? As time went on my bladder expanded to the point of discomfort. Crossing my legs, sucking it in, and distracting myself did not ease my pain. It was getting unbearable and I needed to get the heck out! The girls told me to just go, and we'd somehow find each other afterwards [before the days of cell phones, people.] But I remained glued to my seat with a pulsating bladder--I'm pretty sure I could see the urine rise up to my eyeballs. And this is when I came close to crying.

FINALLY the Pope finished up his mass. The crowd rose to clap and I booked it towards the Porta-potty stations with a wicked limp, elbowing innocent bystanders in the process. But then, out of nowhere, everyone stopped---blocked me from entering my toilet heaven all because of this:
The Pope Mobile cut a path right across the crowd, literally feet in front of my trembling body.
Any potential for excitement was drowned by my intense pain. Come on already, JP! [and I mean that in the most respectful way possible.] Eventually he passed through and I regained my composure, just barely making it to the Porta-Potty. I was crying at this point and figured that I had probably just done irreversible damage to my internal organs. I bet a little bit of pee made it's way into my bloodstream since it had nowhere else to go.

I immerged from the toilet a new woman. My friends were rightfully chuckling at my face and the dramatic situation. I realize it's rather ridiculous but that was probably the most painful moment of my life and I don't wish that on anyone.

So my question is: has anyone pulled a drink and dash? What about nearly peeing in your pants?