When you gotta go, you gotta go

Sometimes you just gotta go. The urge starts to swell up, you can’t get your mind off it, you look around and there’s just no choice, even though it is not convenient or practical, but the reality is, you gotta go. We have all been there. Sure, we should have gone earlier, but we didn’t. We just drove right past the welcome center, but we didn’t have to go then. Now we do, one mile later. Or we were just at McDonalds but didn’t need to go. Now we do. Can we hold on till the next exit? Maybe. Maybe not.

Or picture this. Little Grant in the backseat suddenly says, “Daddy, I gotta pee really bad.” Dad says, “hold on, the next exit is in ten miles.” Little Grant has no idea what that means, but it sounds like a long time, “Daddy, I can’t hold it anymore.” What do you do? You pull over, that’s what you do. Tell me that you’ve never had that experience.

Or you’re playing golf, you’re on the 14th hole and suddenly the three beers need to make an exit. Do you really get in the cart and drive all the way back to the clubhouse, holding up your buddies and inconveniencing all the players on holes 10, 11, 12, and 13? Or do you do your best to pick out a tree, with your back to the course, and relieve yourself? You know the answer.

What you didn’t know is that Busybody Betty, who lives on the course, was at that very moment looking through her kitchen window blinds, gazing down between the hibiscus and hydrangeas, where she can, if she squints her eyes just so, see your spigot. Not content to move on with her day, she screams in holy terror and proclaims that she has been offended. Now, she has three children, so she’s seen a faucet (or more), but for some reason, this one offends her. Just your luck. Wanting to make sure you are punished for, well, leaking on a tree, she calls 911.

A friend of mine, David, tells an incredibly funny story about a late-night need to seek bladder relief, so he pulls over on a desolate Florida highway, tramps through the bushes and briars where even the rabbits dare not go, and relieved himself. About then a nice Florida trooper pulls up behind his car, probably wanting to assist a broken-down motorist. As my friend came back to the car, the trooper asked him what was up? David, not knowing that the trooper was behind on his monthly quota of harassing folks, tells the trooper he had to take a leak. He was arrested. Arrested. An otherwise outstanding citizen, with a lengthy career on base, a guy who would stop and help anyone at any time, now has a blemish on his RAP sheet. Do you think he’ll have to explain himself at Heaven’s gate? I don’t. If it doesn’t bother St. Peter, why does it bother the trooper?

Back to Bothersome Betty. Is this affront worthy of a sheriff’s time? What does THE LAW say? It falls under the public indecency law because there is no state law about peeing.

§ 16-6-8. “Public indecency. (a) A person commits the offense of public indecency when he or she performs any of the following acts in a public place: (1) An act of sexual intercourse; (2) A lewd exposure of the sexual organs; (3) A lewd appearance in a state of partial or complete nudity; or (4) A lewd caress or indecent fondling of the body of another person.”

Tell me what part of this law did our golfer buddy violate? The statute doesn’t say “exposure of sexual organ,” it says, “lewd exposure.” What is lewd? Basic definition: “crude and offensive in a sexual way.” Where, pray tell, was there any “sex” in what the golfer did? That thing is good for several functions, one of which is sex. But it’s used way more often for bladder relief than it is for sex. Yet when Blustery Betty gets a courtesy visit from the local gendarme, the constabulary takes action to track down the offending pee-er, instead of telling her to not be so intent on looking at another man’s business. Were there no drive-by shootings, domestic squabbles, or lawnmower thefts to investigate? Would Vexatious Betty have reported a five-year-old with his pants down on the side of the road? What’s the difference?

Kelly Burke, practicing attorney, former district attorney and magistrate judge, writes about the law, rock’n’roll, and politics or anything that strikes him. These articles are not designed to give legal advice, but are designed to inform the public about how the law affects their daily lives. Contact Kelly at dakellyburke@gmail.com to comment on this article or suggest articles that you’d like to see, and visit his website at www.kellyrburke.com to view prior columns.

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