This is a story about 2 girls who left their friend group to go use a bathroom. Nothing crazy. Simple task. What could possibly go wrong?
“Okay, everybody out! It is now 2 a.m., the bar is closed!”
My friends and I were at Daddio’s, the bar we usually go to in downtown Normal, Illinois. We were hot—figuratively and literally—had to pee, and still wanted to squeeze in one last hoorah.
“Y’all, where’s the afterparty? The night can’t be over!” our friend Wendy exclaimed. She was finally free to be out and spend time with us after being tied up with her sorority. Not in a hostage kind of way—more like she had been committed to bonding with her sisters. Anyway, Wendy was just happy to be outside, and we were happy to have her.
Lani, looking down at her phone, finally looked up and said, “My friend says to pull up to this address. They’re having a little get-together.” Lani either knew everyone on campus, or everyone knew her. Regardless, she was well-connected—at least in my opinion.
“Ladies, please figure out your whereabouts OUTSIDE the bar.”
We turned around to see our favorite security guard, Steve. He wore a black shirt with SECURITY printed on it, black pants, and a black hat perched backward on his head. He stood like a brick wall, his rough gray beard and mustache made him look even more serious than he actually was. Anytime we went downtown and saw Steve, we knew we were getting in. Some might call that a toxic pipeline to alcohol and partying—we called it making another friend. Or maybe we were just girls who liked to have fun.
“Steeeve!” we all exclaimed happily. We liked to believe we were always the highlight of his night. While he checked purses and IDs, we always made it a point to chat with him and make sure he was having a smooth shift.
“Steve, you’re really gonna kick us out like you did the others?” my twin sister, Maleah, asked.
“I absolutely have to, ladies. They’re telling me everyone needs to be out now. Get home safe.” He smiled while also gently pushing us toward the door.
“Don’t do anything reckless,” he muttered under his breath as we were brushing passing him, but the way he said it , it was clear he knew we would.
We walked outside, still trying to figure out whether we were calling it a night or keeping the party going.
“Oh my God, y’all, look at that car!” Wendy said, pointing at a blue Rolls-Royce parked nearby. As we inched closer, we saw the infamous starry-night interior roof. The polished black exterior gleamed under the streetlights.
A tall, muscular, dark-skinned man stepped out from the passenger seat, approaching us with a huge smile.
“Sir, your car is so cool,” Maleah said first.
“Okay, not you riding around Normal in this,” Daija said jokingly.
“Thanks, I got this car last year. I drove down here from Chicago for my cousin’s birthday,” he started explaining. He went on about how he got the car, but I had the strange feeling of someone… watching me.
I turned around and noticed the guy I had been talking to on Snapchat—and briefly at the bar—staring at me. Let’s just call him D. When we locked eyes, he immediately started smiling.
Already uninterested in the guy with the cool car, I walked toward D, and his smile only widened.
“So you stalk me on Snapchat, show up at the same bar I’m at, and now you’re watching me? I feel obligated to let you know my dad’s a cop,” I half-joked.
We would text back and forth on Snapchat, and by back and forth, I mean him asking to see me and me constantly dodging it. Not on purpose—I just never found the time or cared enough to.
“I’m not following you. And besides, I see you’re busy flirting with dude over there,” D said, nodding toward the guy with the car. My friends were swarming it, asking if they could hop in.
Laughing and shaking my head, I asked, “If I was flirting with him, I don’t see how that would concern you.”
Unfortunately, I do love challenging a man. I was also still tipsy, so the confidence was taking over a little.
As D was about to respond, a tall but lean man with locs staggered toward us, looking ready to call it a night.
“D, I’m ready to go. All the bars are closed,” he said, not yet noticing me.
A little annoyed, D replied, “Okay, give me a minute, I’m talking.”
The unfamiliar guy looked me up and down, then grinned, wrapping an arm around D’s shoulders and leaning on him.
“Oh, my bad, cuzzo. I didn’t mean to interrupt. What’s your name, beautiful?” he asked, still smiling.
I gave a warm smile back. “Aliah. And you?”
“You can call me Tank,” he said, extending his hand for me to shake.
Just as I reached for it, I heard my name being called from behind.
“Aliah, what you doing over here?”
I turned around to see Daija walking toward me, her arms bundled up against her chest for warmth. That girl stays cold.
“Just talking,” I say. I almost forgot they were still over there by the car.
Smirking, Daija asks, “Who are you talking to?”
Daija and I were a nasty duo. Whenever we went out, I’d be her wingman or vice versa. And when we both drank, we became two extroverted girls who were unstoppable. We were the devils on each other shoulders.
She stands beside me and looks Tank and D up and down, almost as if she’s assessing whether they even have the right to be talking to me. She does a double take on D, and realization dawns on her face.
Pointing her finger at him, she says, “I remember you. You were talking to Aliah in the bar, trying to get her to stay when we were trying to hit the next spot.” She nearly laughs.
“So, what do you want with my homegirl?” she asks, finally crossing her arms—interrogating him but fighting back a smile.
Not able to contain my laugh, I start giggling because one thing about Daija is that when liquor hits her system, she gets blunt—especially when it comes to a man.
“Woah, woah, I should be asking your homegirl what she wants with my cousin,” Tank says, finally speaking up.
Taken aback, Daija looks Tank up and down and asks, “And who are you?”
Mimicking her, Tank folds his arms over his chest, looks her up and down, and smirks. “I’m Tank. Who are you?”
“Daija,” she says flatly, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing.
Quickly changing the subject, Daija turns to me. “Wendy, Maleah, and Lani are going for a ride in the Rolls-Royce.”
I turn around and see them all piling into the car.
Turning back to Daija, I shake my head. “I don’t really want to get in, and I also have to pee.”
“Girl, me too. I’ve been holding it forever,” Daija says. I glance down at her feet and notice she’s doing the little two-step she always does when she’s trying to hold her pee.
D finally speaks up and says, “Our apartment is right around the corner if y’all want to use the bathroom.”
Daija and I looked at each other, silently having a full conversation with our eyes.
Daija: Should we go?
Me: I don’t know… I do really have to pee.
Daija: Girl, me too, but what if we go and he kills us?
Me: Yeah, that’s a fair concern.
Daija:
Me:
Daija:
Me: Okay, let’s tell the girls where we’re going. They have our location. And, at the very least, D and Tank are short. Our chances of survival are higher just off that.
We both turned to look at D and Tank, who were giving us questionable looks. We sized them up. D stood only about 5’4”, maybe 5’5” on a good day, while his cousin, Tank, was pushing 5’6”. They were short kings.
Daija and I turned to each other again and burst out laughing.
“You girls are weird,” D said, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Shut up,” Daija shot back.
“Okay, we’ll go, but I’m gonna let our friends know first,” I said.
I walked over to Maleah, Wendy, and Lani, who were already getting settled into the car, and told them the plan.
“So, Daija and I are gonna go to my friend’s apartment real quick to use the bathroom. What time will you guys be back so we can meet up?” I asked. They all had big smiles on their faces, excited for this joyride.
“Well, he’s gonna take us for a spin and then drop me off at my car, and we’re going to Wendy’s,” Lani told me.
Hearing footsteps behind me, I turned around to see Daija, still doing the 1-2 step, barely holding it together.
“What’s going on?” she asked, impatiently.
I tell her how they are going for a ride in the guys car and then he’s dropping them off in Lani’s car.
“Okay, well I was talking to D and he said he got a car and can drop us off wherever we need to go, so we can ride with him after we pee,” she says to me. She turns to Wendy and says, “Just let us know when y’all make it home so we can get in.”
We all nod in agreement to the plan, but before letting them go, I went behind the car and snapped a picture of the license plate and walked around to the driver seat, Daija following close behind, and came to the guys window.
“I got your License plate, so if my friends and sister are not where they need to be in 20 minutes, I’m calling the police,” I threaten.
The guy starts laughing but once he notices neither Daija or I wasn’t joking, he turns serious.
“I’m just taking them up the street and back and then I’m going to drop them at the parking lot where her car is,” he finally says. I nod my head and take a few steps back so he can pull off.
Daija and me walked towards D and Tank who were patiently waiting for us to check in with our friends.
“How far is this walk again?” I asked D. It was starting to get cold and I didn’t know how much longer I could hold my pee.
“Just 5 minutes,” he responds casually.
Looking back, the walk was probably 5 minutes, but to Daija and I the walk felt like the march to freedom.
“This walk isn’t five minutes” Daija complained loudly, dragging her feet.
“D, if you’re going to kill us, just do it. But don’t make us walk to our deaths– thats just cruel,” I cried out.
“I’ve never met two girls who complain more than you two,” Tank said, rolling his eyes.
“And we’re here,” D finally says.“We have to go around the back,” D explained, leading us to the back of their apartment complex, where all the cars were parked.
From the outside, it looked like a regular apartment, nothing fancy, but nothing that made us want to turn around and run, either. It wasn’t until we stepped inside that we started questioning.
We followed them into the apartment, and immediately we were met with a light that kept flickering, a smell that reeked of eggs and a wet dog and garbage all over the floor.
“Oh hell no” Daija mutter under her breath, disgust and horror plastered all over her face.
Daija and I looked at each other.
Me: I hope their apartment doesn’t look like this.
Daija: I hope their toilet don’t look like this. We pee and then we go.
We followed them up the stairs, trying not to laugh at the situation.
“We finna die,” I whispered to Daija, jokingly.
“I just want to pee,” Daija whispered back, desperation evident in her voice.
As we continued up the stairs, getting closer to their apartment, D turned to me and asked, “You gotta piss, right?”
I nodded, not even bothering to answer, because just as he asked, his cousin had already unlocked the door to their apartment. Have you ever seen a crime scene in a horror movie? Now imagine the victim being a pile of unfolded clothes, half-eaten food, and mysterious stains on a mattress. It was a one-bedroom loft where the bedroom doubled as the living room. Each time Daija and I looked around, we found something else we couldn’t unsee.
“Okay, here’s the bathroom,” D said, pointing to the door on the right.
Daija and I immediately made a beeline for the bathroom when D asked, “Oh, both of y’all gotta piss?” Why did he insist on saying “piss” instead of “pee”? No clue, but it only made the whole thing even more uncomfortable.
“Yeah,” we said in unison, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.
“Y’all gonna share a bathroom?” D muttered under his breath, probably not expecting us to hear him.
“Yeah, y’all don’t do that?” I said, trying to make a joke while we practically sprinted to the bathroom.
“Weirdos,” Daija finally said, just before we both rushed into the bathroom.
Without a second thought, we slammed the door behind us and locked it. We turned to each other, eyes wide with panic and fear. Finally letting out our breaths
“Turn the light on,” Daija said, her voice tight.
I couldn’t take any of this seriously. I burst into laughter while Daija scrambled around, desperately searching for the light switch. We were cramped in the tiny bathroom, hands brushing the walls as we tried to flip the switch, hoping for some sign of light.
“Where’s the light?” Daija cried out, crossing her legs to hold back the floodgates—no, the piss gates. I wasn’t even trying to help. Instead, I silently giggled at the absurdity, knowing the guys outside could probably hear our little freak-out session, which only made it worse, and therefore, even funnier.
Daija pulled out her phone to use the flashlight, her eyes darting over every corner of the cramped bathroom, scanning for that elusive switch.
“Where’s the light?” she says, exasperated.
As she’s still scrambling to find the light, I noticed the door cracked open. We both reached to close it again, but it cracked open once more. The door was broken. We couldn’t even lock it, so to keep it shut, one of us had to keep a hand pressed against it.
So, the bathroom didn’t have a light, and it looked like it had witnessed things no bathroom should ever see. The mirror was smudged with god knows what, the sink had toothpaste stains all over it, the tiles on the floor were cracked, and the door wouldn’t even close. All I could do was laugh.
Daija, still holding her phone with the flashlight on, accepted defeat. She just pulled her pants down to pee, determined not to let her butt touch the toilet. She was still breathing heavily, and I was praying to God to take all my laughs and giggles out of me so I could lock in and focus.
Daija and I looked at each other, and she whispered, “Aliah, please.”
I completely lost it again. I was trying to get her to lower her voice because the apartment was so small, there was no way the guys couldn’t hear us.
“Daija, shut up,” I hushed back, holding the door with one hand while crossing my legs, praying to the heavens to not let me pee— no, piss—on myself from laughing.
We both realized we had no idea what we’d gotten ourselves into. The whole situation was unsettling, and once again, all we could do was laugh.
“I’m trying to pee faster, I swear. Bitch, this is the last time I will follow you anywhere,” Daija muttered when she noticed me doing the 1-2 step, trying to hold it in.
“Remember that scene in Scary Movie 2 when the pastor was on the toilet?” I said between laughs. Daija tried to hold it in, but a snort slipped out, making us both laugh even harder. Her snorts kept coming, each one louder than the last.
At this point, I was doing everything I could to get Daija to stop laughing.
“Daija!” I said between bursts of laughter. “Shh, shut up, stop!” I crossed my legs again, now praying to anyone who would listen to please not let me pee—piss—on myself.
“I’m sorry, I’m trying, I’m trying,” she said, tears forming in her eyes from all the laughter. We both took deep breaths, trying to steady ourselves, so we could get the hell out of there.
She finished, washed her hands, and we switched positions. She held the door with one hand and the other with holding her phone as a flashlight while I used the bathroom.
We left the bathroom, and noticed Tank was on his bed, watching TV, with D nowhere in sight.
“D went to the car to warm it up for y’all,” Tank told us.
We headed downstairs and outside, then hopped in the car with D, who took us to Wendy’s. The car ride was a silent one, Daija and me both traumatized, not wanting to utter a word. Our friends had made it back to Wendy’s place safe and sound, and that was the end of the night.
To our surprise, Wendy, Lani, and Maleah got pulled over while riding with the Rolls-Royce man, which made for a hilarious story. In return, we told them about surviving the bathroom from hell.
It was an eventful night—definitely one for the books.
