It flashed on more than a week ago after I’d started the ignition. MAINTENANCE REQUIRED SOON on my odometer. It stared me in the face whenever I looked down on it, and it kept staring when I looked away. My car is run by a hard drive now. I thought it could’ve been an error. Sometimes cars, these days, need a system reboot. But no. It stared at me and kept staring on the day before Memorial Day. And I had a long trip ahead of me up north for several hundreds of miles.

Then yesterday, as I was driving back to Palm Springs, and the message was still staring at me, it changed to MAINTENANCE REQUIRED. VISIT YOUR DEALER. So now I was expecting my vehicle to break down at any moment. This was a desperate time when I had to use the bathroom. I hadn’t gone before the trip, and I had to go then, but I decided to hold it in. It was a three-hour drive through Tehachapi, the countryside where no bathrooms existed, and I thought I could do it the whole way, but nope. I considered pulling over to the shoulder and going in the bushes since I was stuck in California farmland. Yes, it was the middle of nowhere. I’d never had to go that badly.

And the message was staring me in the face. With hundreds of miles to go, it couldn’t have come any slower.

I finally gave in when I reached Lancaster and pulled off at an exit, desperately searching for a bathroom or somewhere that would let me use it. I found a teriyaki restaurant, pulled into a parking space, dropped my keys, had trouble picking them up, and rushed inside there, praying they would let me.

A sign on the door said RESTROOM IS FOR CUSTOMERS ONLY.

I had to make myself a customer, so I ordered a small Pepsi. At least the young woman behind the register in that small town was fast with it. I used my iPhone to make the purchase and poured the cup after I filled it with ice, in disbelief since I was panicking and didn’t have time to pour ice into the cup. What was I doing? What was I thinking?

In order to use the bathroom, I had to use a key. My stomach was swelling. That was how badly I had to go.

So I politely asked the young woman, “May I use the bathroom, please?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

She pulled out a white measuring spoon with a key attached to it.

I hurried to the men’s room. It had only one toilet, no urinal. I think I spent about five minutes just going, not knowing where that desperate urge had come from because I usually could control my bladder.

When I was done, I returned the key to the young lady and got out of there with the soda in my hand, but I still felt the urge to go. It fascinated me.

And when I turned on the ignition, I prayed that the message would go away, but it remained. MAINTENANCE REQUIRED. VISIT YOUR DEALER. I pictured myself on the shoulder of the 14, with my hazard lights on, just standing there with a broken-down car, waiting for a AAA truck to pick me up in a strange town. But where would it have taken me? It was Sunday. What dealership was open on a Sunday?

To end this on a happy note, I made it home safely. I never peed my pants, and my car never broke down—the way I figured it would. But you really never know.