Time to Go

My nephew was living in Hamburg, Germany during the fall of 2001 and I had an unexpected business trip to Frankfurt come up at the same time. My first meeting took place at the airport. That afternoon I met with opposing counsel in his office and confirmed my appointment for the following morning. I would have one week before the next meetings and planned to drive up to Hamburg and surprise my nephew. Part of the reason I planned the trip was to squeeze in some vacation time, bookended by some work.

I checked out of my quaint hotel and as soon as my meeting ended I got into my car, double checked the map and headed north toward Hamburg. Other than a few miles from the airport to my hotel, I had never driven on the famed German autobahn. Only moments passed before I realized that German drivers had earned their reputation for high-powered vehicles and very fast driving. I also found them extraordinarily polite and helpful in their driving. But no matter how well trained they are accidents do happen on the autobahn.

On that 500 kilometer trip from Frankfurt to Hamburg, accidents brought traffic to a complete halt three times. I don’t speak German so the traffic channel didn’t help much. While waiting in the middle of four lanes of stopped traffic, I didn’t even exit my car for the first crash. But I did notice the life flight helicopter overhead in addition to the numerous emergency response teams. I figured something big had happened ahead of me. When I was stopped the second time I recognized the custom of drivers getting out of their cars to stretch their legs and some would chat with other travelers.

When I could see the traffic jam for the third time I started to worry, not because I felt like I was in any danger, rather I really had to go to the bathroom and there wasn’t an exit anywhere in sight. Once I was stopped I got out of my car and tried to walk it off. It might work with ankles, but no so much with bladders. While suffering in agony, the driver to my left got out of his car, walked over to the side of the road and took care of his business. As he came back, I asked if he spoke English and he did. He came from Holland but his work required regular travel through Germany. I asked if this many traffic stoppages was normal. He told me that three accidents was a little excessive, but he explained that “when accidents happen on the autobahn, people die, so there will be delays.”

No longer able to repress my physical needs I queried about the etiquette of a full bladder during a traffic jam. He chuckled at my American Puritanism and told me to just go. Calculating my options I quickly chose comfort over shame. In the end, there was no shame, only inexplicable relief.