Rick Sanchez Pisses Himself On A Commercial Flight
This was a commission. Exactly what the title describes. Read on if you're into it.
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It’d been a stupid fucking idea to portal into this region of space without having programmed his translator to the local language beforehand. Suuure, in and out, grab the rare element found only in this corner of space, and leave. Would’ve worked out great if that acid-spitting carnivorous plant hadn’t made a direct hit on his portal gun the moment he arrived.
From there it’d been a miserable three hour trek to the nearest swath of civilization in order to find a way off planet. A series of desperate pantomime routines got him to a space port, and from there onto a ship supposedly headed towards Earth.
Rick sank into his seat with an exhausted sigh and let his skull flop back against the head rest. A muffled voice recited something incomprehensive over the intercom as the ship moved through the launch bay.
The lurch of take off jostled him, making him aware of the growing pressure in his lower stomach. He’d guzzled down so much water when he made it into town, but forgot to even consider how to find a bathroom after.
Lifting his head, Rick gazed around in search of a bathroom, or anything indicating one in the area. There were several instructional plaques placed throughout the cabin but none of them in a language he could translate. He muttered a few curses under his breath and crossed his arms, facing forward with a displeased frown.
Once the ship had evened out into its flight pattern and what seemed to be the seatbelt light shut off, the stewards began making their rounds. The sound of drinks being poured was making Rick’s situation gradually worse and he wilted forward over himself slightly with an uncomfortable grunt.
A steward pushed a cart up to his seat and gave a friendly smile before asking him something in that language he just couldn’t understand.
“Yeah, I, uh, I’m lookin’ for a bathroom. Sorry, I don’t speak the–the language around here,” Rick tried, searching their face for any understanding.
The steward was still smiling but with a blatant layer of confusion over their expression. They tried asking him something else, but didn’t seem to understand English.
Anxious desperation began a slow creep into Rick’s veins. He tried again, using phrases he remembered from other alien languages. Spaceport security had disabled his augments, so even his non-local translator was offline.
Unfortunately, the steward’s patience only seemed to last for only so many attempts at conversation before they lifted their hands helplessly and shook their head.
Pantomime? That might work.
Rick sat up straight in his seat and lifted a palm to try gesturing for them to wait. They did pause, and he quickly went to work.
At first he tried outlining the shape of a toilet with his hands. Then, he stood up, pretended to pull down his pants, and sat again, looking up at them earnestly.
Their eyes narrowed and their smile faded slightly. Still, no signs of recognition.
His frustration was rising and Rick glanced around in a desperate bid for inspiration. Helplessly, he lifted both hands, making a fist with one and placing the other on top of it, two fingers outstretched in an attempt to represent someone sitting on a toilet.
The steward’s expression fell and their eyes widened into unease. They grabbed the handle of their cart and slowly moved away to the next passenger.
“Goddamn it, what the fuck…” Rick groaned, flopping back in his seat to openly pout.
He scowled at the back of the seat in front of him and tried to ignore the growing sensation in his lower body. Surely the flight couldn’t be that long. Inter-planetary travel had come a long way. Soon enough, he’d be pissing in his own toilet. Or in Gene’s flower bed.
Rick did his best to hold onto that thought as time eeked by. He checked his surroundings multiple times for something to stealth piss into: a bottle, a cup–hell, he’d settle for a vomit bag.
Nothing.
He dragged his hands down the sides of his face in exasperation, sighing and growling.
A sharp pain wrenched through his pelvic cavity and Rick’s right eye twitched. He tried miserably to distract himself with brainstorming ideas, but every attempt swerved him mentally into thinking of ways to relieve himself. Watching his mind almost automatically go through the process of inventing a travel-sized urination device only made the situation worse.
What felt like hours passed as his torturous state only worsened. The sharply aching pressure was all Rick could think about as he shifted and sank in his seat, trying to find a position that might lessen the discomfort. He ended up manspreading to the max while trying to extend his torso. This helped only slightly.
After a time, it was all Rick could do just to control his breathing and dig his fingernails into the arm rests of his seat. He dreaded the landing process and how long it would take the plebians in the frontmost rows to get the fuck out.
A chiming sound rang throughout the cabin and one of the lights over Rick’s head lit up. Muscles rigid, he turned his head to see the other passengers re-securing their seat belts.
Rick wanted to scream.
There was absolutely no fucking way he was about to subject himself to any additional abdominal pressure. He’d rather get sucked out into the vacuum of space.
Moments passed and the chiming sound came to an end. The entire cabin had re-secured their belts, except for Rick, whose overhead light began to blink. He refused to acknowledge it. After about fifteen seconds of this, a beeping noise began to emit from the console above his head. This he too ignored.
Passengers were beginning to notice the sound, many of them peering over curiously in his direction. Rick stubbornly turned his head to stare out the window.
This lasted only a moment before two stewards were suddenly standing beside him, squawking and trying to get his attention in ways he didn’t understand. Rick’s gaze didn’t falter, locked on the window, as he refused to acknowledge them.
One steward uttered something in a low tone to their co-worker, before reaching down to grab Rick’s wrists in a surprisingly powerful grip.
“Wh–the fuck?!” he squawked indignantly, reflexively pulling away.
The clenching of muscles in his torso sent a fresh, sickening pulse of agony through him and he briefly went limp to endure it, groaning.
Wasting no time, and making use of the situation, the stewards attached his wrists to restraints on the arm rests and his ankles to cuffs at the base of his seat.
Rick’s ability to process his situation returned just as they finished up and he snarled at them, infuriated, “Ohh you two bitches better be FUCKING READY for what you’ve got coming! Do you have ANY goddamn idea WHO THE FUCK I AM?!”
One of the stewards mildly placed a small, useless pillow behind his head and muttered something before the both of them walked away.
Basically every other passenger in the vicinity was staring at Rick at this point and he turned his head to try glowering at each of them in return.
His skull throbbed painfully from tension. It felt like anger was the only thing he could reliably hold onto, the only thing in him more intense than the unbearable pressure in his lower abdomen.
Rick was about to flat–out start trying to pick a fight with surrounding passengers when the entire ship lurched from a sudden impact, followed by another. His body jolted forward only slightly each time, the seatbelt pulling against him, but it was more than enough to fuck him over.
The punch of additional pressure cut through his remaining control like a hot knife through butter.
He started pissing.
A startled grunt escaped him and Rick went still, staring blankly into the air in front of him.
Hot urine pooled in his seat as relief flooded his senses. He shivered from both sensations, clenching his fists and fighting back a groan as his head fell back.
“F-fuck…” Rick hissed through his teeth, completely unable to stop now. All his earlier fight was gone and he carefully kept from meeting anyone’s gaze.
They knew. Everyone knew.
His face heated up rapidly, searing a deep, humiliated blush across his skin. He tried to press his knees together to somehow staunch the flow, but to no avail. Piss trickled over the edges of his seat, much of it cascading down the backs of his legs and into his shoes. Soon, even those were overflowing.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of pissing himself stupid, the pressure was gone. In its place: a cooling puddle of stinking fluid, from which he could not escape.
Rick was faced with the choice to either call out for a steward, or to stubbornly remain sitting in his personal piss bath in order to avoid asking for help.
So, it was going to be at least another hour in the piss bath.
For the first several minutes, he did his best to play it off, hoping no one could see the mess from this angle. Even if they couldn’t, the odor was unmistakable. He could feel the confused, disgusted gazes turning on him from the surrounding rows.
By the time their final approach began, the lingering urine which hadn’t soaked into the seat or trickled to the floor was becoming icy cold in the air-conditioned environment. Rick sat shivering, gaze locked on the back of the seat in front of him as he waited out his miserable circumstances.
No one around him was enjoying it, either.
It wasn’t until after landing and allowing every other passenger off (many of them shooting him repulsed glances as they passed) that the stewards arrived to free a very cranky Rick from his restraints.
He needed a shower, a change of clothes, and the manifesto for the flight. It was going to be a long weekend of mind-blowing rubbernecking gawkers who can’t mind their business about another man’s piss!!
Rick angrily muttered the entire way back home, feet squelching in his ruined shoes.
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