The Traffic Offence – Short Story

Happy Fourth of July to my American friends! Here’s a short story I’ve written, something different from my usual posts.

“I need to buy more diapers tomorrow,” Annette thought to herself as she entered her room. It was just past nine at night, and she had just taken her shower. Closing the door, she knelt down towards her closet, disregarding her unravelling towel and the ominous rumble in her tummy.

She rummaged through her lower drawer, to retrieve a diaper for the night. The Tena Slip Super packaging was empty. The Abena AbriForm packaging was empty too. How about the Lille SupremFits? What, it was empty too?

Annette stood up, as the realisation dawned on her that she was out of diapers. She first sat on her bed, then lay down, realising that her mistake meant no diapers for the night. She bit her lip as she thought. It had been at least five years since she last wet the be so it wasn’t an issue, but the thought of having to poop on the toilet in the morning started to gnaw at her already upset tummy. She stood up.

Quickly, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a school t-shirt, and grabbed her keys. ‘I need my diapers tonight,’ she muttered to herself as she locked her room and descended the stairs of her university hostel.

She got onto her motorcycle, a Bajaj Pulsar, and kick-started the engine. It quickly roared to life. Soon, she was speeding out of the carpark and onto the Avenue. The track adjacent was full of joggers whom Annette noticed turned to look at her, as they always did when she zoomed past. But she ignored them and started thinking about where she could get her security padding at this hour.

She wanted to get her hands on some Tena Slips, but knew that the bigger pharmacies were likely to be closed. She settled on getting some Tena Values diapers. They were plastic-backed, but at least they held a decent amount of liquid. As she tore down the streets towards her destination, she was acutely aware of the worsening cramps in her stomach.

Quickly, Annette parked her bike. She clenched her stomach, and as she took off her helmet she tried to let out some gas to relieve the pressure, which was unexpectedly loud. But there wasn’t anyone nearby. She quickly walked over to the supermarket. It was nearly closing time, but she had made it in time. She walked slowly towards the diaper section, taking small detours, well aware that the weary staff were eyeing the last customer of the day.

She quickly bent down to compare the prices. Yes, the Tena Values were still more value-for-money than Certainty Diapers and the other house-brand diapers. So she quickly picked up an M sized pack, and, with her stomach now throbbing in earnest, limped towards the cashier.

The old lady at the counter raised an eyebrow at her purchase, but said nothing. Annette felt herself freezing as she farted again, and to her horror, the sound she made was barely audible. The cashier chuckled as she handed her change to her.

“Go, quickly,” she added jokingly. But Annette was not amused.

“That are not for me, its for my grandma,” she lied flatly as she grabbed the package and turned to leave.

But she had taken no more than ten steps when she knew that she needed to go right then. So she headed towards the nearby toilets to put one on. She repeatedly thanked her lucky stars that there wasn’t anyone who was nearby to hear the loud crinkling she was making as she hurried to put on her diaper. And as she attached the last tape, she realised that she didn’t have any wet wipes with her.

She took a deep breath to calm herself down – regretting immediately as the stench of the toilet hit her – before grudgingly smoothening out her diaper and pulling on her jeans. She grabbed the plastic bag containing her purchase, and headed towards the carpark. Quickly starting her motorcycle, she willed her stomach to cooperate, put her purchase in her rear box, and sat down on her machine.

The padding helped soothe her nerves a little, so she put the bike in gear and set off. Turn left onto the main street, then she would be back in her hostel in ten minutes before she got her sweet relief. However the intensity of her impending tsunami get magnifying, so she cranked the throttle and blazed towards her hostel, doing 100 in a 60kmph zone. Just get this over with, she thought to herself.

She turned the corner, and a part of her died when she saw it. The unmistakable action of a traffic police officer gesturing her towards the pavement, meant that she was definitely a fly caught in their notoriously random sting operation. And as she stood peeing herself as the charge was read out to her, the eight demerit points and possible $120 fine didn’t bother her as much as the seismic moment she knew was going to happen in 5…4…3…2…1…

“Alright Miss, since you weren’t driving under the influence of alcohol we will let you go for now. We will send the offence notice to your registered address, and you can leave once you sign this… Miss, are you alright?”

Annette’s face went a bright shade of red as she started to grunt. Bending her knees slightly, her left hand slightly reached out behind her.  She lost attention to what was happening and focused on relieving herself, completely ignoring the police officer who was not much older than herself. Perplexed, he took a step back, surveying her unusual posture. Was she really pooping, or was she about to puke?

Noticing the awkward position she had put him in, she took the document and signed it, before turning to walk away. She waddled slightly, cringing as all the officers eyed her and her exposed jeans, her shirt doing little to shield it. Lifting her bike off its stand, she swung a leg over, before cringing as she sat down. She heard an ‘OMG’ from an officer.

As she rode off into the night, she reflected to herself that she had uncontrollably messed herself in front of a police officer. She hoped that it wouldn’t be recorded down in the offence notice that her dad was sure to open.

– Story by me


The Young Man, And The Hot Girl

It was a long and tiring day, but I had a 7pm motorcycle class to attend. I rushed down after completing my evening class for my late evening lesson, mentally prepping myself for the bombardment of skills and sharp-tongued instructors amid quiet classmates.

But life decided to let up on me for this lesson. There was a hot girl in my group of 8, and she kept looking at me. I was determined to talk to her. Midway through the lesson we were having a break. This was my chance, I thought to myself. We all walked back to the waiting area and sat down. A fellow classmate sauntered over and sat beside me, breaking my thoughts.

We had a light conversation, about how difficult it is to book classes, about the long waiting time between them and the very sharp learning curve.

I mentioned that with the flexibility of the university schedule, I could still rush over after classes ended. He mentioned that he usually had to apply for half day’s leave in order to attend lessons, and since he lived close by, he didn’t need to drive over.

“So you’re learning bike for the experience?”, I asked.

He chuckled.

“Guess how old I am,” he asked me.

He looked a little middle-aged, but not wanting to hurt his feelings, I mumbled ‘thirties’.

“I am 57 this year. And I still want to learn,” he declared proudly.

Fifty-seven? He is older than my parents. I was genuinely surprised.

“It’s never too late to learn something, if you want to, you will find a way!” he said with great zeal.

“But it is good that you are able to learn while schooling,” he added, ostensibly to change the topic.

“I was once like you, NUS (university) grad, big pay, good life. But I could spend $600 a day, just on drinks and enjoying.”

“As a fellow friend, I just ask that you don’t do the same mistake as me. It is good to have friends, but you must choose the right kind. If they are bad, then just walk away from them,” he added.

With those words, we walked back to our lesson area. While that short conversation wasn’t some mind-blowing, meme-worthy revelation, it did set me thinking.

Somehow, I forced myself back to the lesson at hand. Soon, the lesson was over and the instructor was waving at us to park our bikes for the night.

As always, life didn’t forget the girl. She parked her bike beside mine as I set off back to the waiting area for the results. Suddenly, I heard someone calling out to me.

“Eh, come back, he’s (the instructor) calling us”.

It was the hot girl. I quickly called those infant of me, and we walked back to the instructor. But he was oblivious to us, and merely waved at us to go back to the waiting area.

I felt the embarrassment radiating from her. So I helped things along by asking how how the lesson went.

“I was wobbling a bit, but I think I can pass,” she said coyly. “You?”

“I… well, I was stuck in the yellow box when the light went red, and just proceeded to turn. Hope he doesn’t mind that,” I said.

“Oh don’t worry lah, you seemed okay,” she reassured me as we reached the waiting area.

We retrieved our stuff from our lockers and she sat down beside me as we removed our hand and knee guards. We then sat in silence, waiting for the results.

The wait was nerve-wracking, and I calmed my nerves down by whipping out my phone and writing down all the techniques that I’d learnt that day. Soon, our instructor was calling out to our group.

We cautiously approached him, and thankfully, I had passed the module.

The last I saw of the girl, she was looking at her book shaking her head in sadness, before the other students engulfed her.

– Selv