GOING…  GOING…  GONE!
AS A BOY growing up and seeking adventure, I always wanted to be in a situation that was thrilling and near the edge. I, being the hero, would use all my courage and strength to outwit the enemy and save the day.
When, as an adult, I was granted this wish, I didn’t expect it to play out exactly as it did. I was a thirty-three-year-old bachelor, and not yet thinking seriously of marriage. Faye had asked about it a few times, but on each occasion, I had deftly brushed the issue aside. We were in love, and that was enough for now.
I held two degrees; my first was in Human Relations, and the second in Marketing. My future in the Beaton Group of Companies looked bright. In five years, I had moved up the ladder to Marketing Manager.
The job was demanding, and the hours often long. This left me little time for home. With a family, my schedule would cause a serious conflict of interest. Maybe I would marry Faye in another two to three years when I became CEO.
Typically, I lived for my work. All my house chores were done by hired help. Cooking was unnecessary, because the company provided meals daily. The most I had to do was shop weekly. This suffered too, and sometimes when I discovered that there was nothing in the house, I would make a mad dash to the supermarket.
Faye and I decided to go to England for the Summer of 2004. I applied for leave to coincide with these plans, and it was approved. Tickets were bought, and bookings made. The day before proceeding on leave and two days before our trip, the CEO, Mr. Payne, sent for me.
I was being promoted to Deputy CEO on condition that I postpone my leave and go to the Skeldon branch to train the new Branch Manager. My heart soared. Wow! Talk about a  dream come true! Faye would understand and be happy for me. We could always do it another time.
“What!”
“Sorry baby. We could do it next year, or go for a Christmas trip.”
“No!” Her anger knew no bounds. “Your job seems more important to you than anyone or anything else.”
“You know that’s not true.” I tried to placate her.
“I am going… with or without you!”
She departed in an angry and indignant mood, while I sat there, feeling rather stupid.
Why didn’t I try explaining to Mr. Payne. Maybe he would have arranged something else. As it was, I would be driving to Skeldon the following day.
I awoke at 4:00am the next morning and prepared for my journey. By 5:30, I had only to grab a bite to eat and head off. When I opened the refrigerator, I cursed silently.  Most of my supplies had run out. The only thing I found was a half-cartoon of milk. I downed it in great gulps.
Dawn was creeping up on me as I drove along the East Coast Highway. Most of Guyana was still asleep, except for farmers and some business people speeding to or from Georgetown. I switched on the radio and music filled the car. In the next three hours, I would be in Skeldon.
An hour into the drive, my stomach began to object to my not having breakfast. Forcing it out of my mind, I drove on. There was no chance to eat before reaching Rosignol. The sun was wide awake now, and even with the air conditioner on, it felt warm and clammy. By now, my tummy was making an awful fuss and had begun to pain. I kept an eye out for any establishment that would offer a glimmer of hope for a meal.
Before long, I came to realise that the issue with my stomach was not related to breakfast. The pain suddenly changed its emphasis and became a nagging gripe. Oh No! The milk! I knew that it tasted a bit funny, but being in a hurry, I didn’t pay much attention to that. I wish I had.
As the journey proceeded, it now became an ordeal. Could I hold on for another forty- five minutes? The tension began to increase. Sweat emerged despite the air conditioning. My attention was two-fold. The houses had dwindled, and I was now driving through open fields. Unfortunately for me, they were truly open rice fields. No chance of cover if I made a mad dash for the bush.
People who know me would tell you that I am a careful driver. I never exceed the sped limit, rarely overtake, and never take chances. All that disappeared in my quest for relief. My foot was mercilessly pressing the gas, and overtaking became the order of the day. Very often, I left angry drivers in my wake, and needed little imagination in interpreting the gestures and unprintable language that assailed me as I ploughed on.
I spied a grove of trees ahead and breathed a happy “Thank God!” Slowing the car, I looked for a nice place in which to make my ‘private deposit’, because I was certain that the company’s car was not an appropriate vessel for that. I noticed a thick clump of trees, and brought the car to a screeching halt. Exiting it in great haste, I charged for the spot. When I got there, I looked around to ensure that visibility from the road was minimal. It was. Undoing my belt, I turned and stared into the face of an angry farmer.
“Is just so yuh does piss in people farm?”
I was speechless, and still holding my dangling belt.
“Next time, pee before you drive.”
He turned and headed for a nearby coconut tree, which he climbed. There was no way I could finish this business with him looking down at me, so I hurried back to the car. Tears were now being forcefully held back.
When you have to go urgently, there is a way of walking that just can’t be denied. If anyone saw my movement, they would quickly guess my plight. It took a Herculean effort to resume the journey. As the car picked up speed, I prayed as never before.  “Lord, please help me to find a toilet quickly. P.S: No potholes, please!”
I was drenched in sweat, and my stomach cried out in anguish from so much contracting. Cold sweat took over, and I knew that something would have to give. I was praying it would not be my will.
Looking around in the car, I decided to have an alternative ready: A back-up plan. My baleful glance centered on the briefcase. Shaking a bit, I emptied its contents  on the passenger seat, and got ready for the crisis brewing. Better the company-briefcase than the company-car. The way my guts was carrying on, even the briefcase would be hard-pressed to withstand the level of assault that it would have to face.
The next fifteen to twenty minutes passed in a confused blur. Somehow, I managed to focus on the road, and soon came to an area of heavy vegetation. Taking no chances this time, I grabbed my camera and the box of paper napkins. In case I was discovered, my camera would act as a decoy.
As I was about to enter the bushes, a horn tooted, and looking back, I saw that a minibus had stopped in front of my car.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes!” I almost screamed at the driver and numerous curious faces of the passengers.
They drove off waving, and I made my way to a thick grassy clump. I stooped with a sigh. The next ten minutes felt like nothing I had ever experienced before. And, in a way, it was. By the time I was done, I had created a small mountain out of only two pints of milk. Incredible! I got dressed, and tossed dry grass over the spot.
I had barely taken a dozen steps towards the road when the bushes in front of me parted, and a face as red as a cherry from sunburn appeared.
“I say, old chap!” The Cockney accent was unmistakable. “Anything worth shooting?”
He had a professional-looking camera, and was eager to get to work. I could have told him a lot about my recent shooting in these bushes, but decided against it.
“Not really,” I replied.
He laughed and offered his hand.
“Jack Miggins.”
“Wayne Joseph,” I replied, shaking his hands and stepping around him.
“I’ll just stick around and try to get a few good ones.” He turned and headed away from me.
“Not the best spot for that,” I said, trying to get him to change his mind.
He paused and looked at the bushes and trees, then beamed good-naturedly.
“You never know; could still be a few surprises around.” He winked mischievously and walked on.
As I approached my car, I heard a shout. It sounded more like anger than fear. The only word that I could clearly discern was screamed over and over. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
I made it to the car in three seconds flat, and got the hell out of there, tyres screeching.
Seems as though my tourist friend had come upon the surprise he so desperately sought.