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To Pee in a Cup This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

3:58 PM, I am sitting in a cold, compact air space. The reception lady winks at me; I try my best at a fake smile. I know I shouldn’t be rude to her, I try to distract myself from the moments ahead of me. I pick up a magazine and look at the name of it: Cooking for Beginners. I begin to read, half interested.

“Karen?” I look up; the receptionist is staring at me, “is that you? Karen Romesky?”
I nod yes and get up, dreading the next few minutes. I couldn’t help but notice, as I always do, she is about a foot shorter than I am.

She hands me the cup and says, “Take as long as you want, and when you’re done put it on the shelf.” She nods towards an open shelf.

“Thank you.” I try in my best nice-girl voice.

She gives me one of those gross, full-teeth-in-view smiles that you usually get from doctors. I nod meekly, trying not to say anything that will get me the stink eye from the reception lady.

When the door is closed I set the cup down on the toilet, and look myself in the mirror.

“You can do this,” I say, my mind flickering to a memory when I was in speech, learning what intrapersonal communication was, well this is it, I should get an A in this section don’t you think Mrs. Van Diepen?

I shake my head to clear away the distraction; my mind has become so used to making distractions from my life it’s begun to do it on it’s own.

I follow the instructions, and start peeing in the cup. I feel like an experiment, like they will clone me with my pee. Stupid assumption but I think it all the same.

As I wash my hands after, I can’t help but think what if they found something in my urine that would make me ‘inhuman’ like the Hulk or Spiderman or something. That would be cool, I look at my pee sample in the cup and wander off imagining rooftops, spandex, rippling abdomens, and Toby Macguire.

A harsh beating of the door interrupts my distraction.

“This is occupied,” I reply.

“Hurry it up!” A man says.
I smile at myself in the mirror. “I’ll be out in a minute.” I hear him grumble something but I can’t understand.
I flush the toilet and set my urine sample on the open shelf like the reception lady said. I notice something; my cup doesn’t have my name on it. I open the door to a grimy-looking man, “Uhm, excuse me, do have a pen?”

He looks at me like I’m delusional; “Does it look like I have a pen?”
I have no problem giving him the meanest look. “I need a pen to write my name on my piss cup, so if not then you’ll have to wait, I don’t want everyone to think you are the next Toby Macguire!” I cross my arms, realizing I sound completely what he took me as; delusional.

He just walks in, I try to stop him but he is bigger than I am. He slams the door in my face.

I stare at the door for awhile, then shrug my shoulders start walking out the door, then pause. “Excuse me?” I go up to the reception lady.

The smile, again, “How may I help you Karen?”

“You just wanted me to set the cup on the shelf right?”

She nods, still smiling.
I nod and walk out the door.



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