04 - The pre-employment health check

Otherwise known as pissing in a bottle...

The day after my interview, I was asked to head out to Seaview to do a pre-employment health check.

I answered an online form, then once submitted, I was phoned back to make the apppointment. 2 pm on Tuesday. Remember, this is Tuesday after the Friday that I applied to be a bus operator. Things were moving rapidly.

“Make sure you’re sufficiently hydrated to complete the test,” the woman on the phone said. I took no notice and went on with my day.

Late Tuesday morning, I was thinking about what they would submit me to when checking my health. Surely, despite me saying my blood pressure was fine, they’d check my blood pressure, and take my pulse. I was confident I’d pass that test easily.

Surely, they’d look in my ears, and down my throat? Surely they’d test my reflexes? Surely they’d check my eyesight?

Only some of this came to pass.

It’s a 30-minute drive from my house to Seaview. As I was walking out the door, that comment about staying hydrated came back. I suddenly thought, “Holy shit…they want me to piss into a bottle!” I honestly thought they would be taking blood because the instructions for giving blood are similar. Drink plenty of water!

I ran back into the house and gulped down a couple of glasses of water, and filled a water bottle. I’d guzzled the whole bottle by the time I arrived at my appointment.

I was welcomed by a matronly woman, clearly not a doctor, but definitely some sort of health professional.

I answered a few more questions, and the woman ticked off a few boxes on a paper form. Then she explained the procedure.

Alcohol testing would be done by blowing into a device, similar to what you do when you are pulled over by the police. Easy.

Eyesight would be tested by looking into one of those clunky devices they have in NZTA depots.

Drugs would be tested by—you guessed it—pissing in a bottle. She showed me the receptacle. It had a hinged lid. I was to pee into it making sure I filled it to above the ‘line’. Once done, I would snap the lid closed and pass it to the nurse.

Herein lies the problem. I’m one of the few men who have real trouble taking a leak publicly, or semi-publicly. I just looked it up on Doctor Google. It’s called paruresis, or “shy bladder syndrome”. I’ve always called it ‘stage fright’.

The terrifying explanation continued.

We’d go down to the toilet, together. I’d go into the cubicle. I would leave the toilet door ajar, enough so she could ‘hear’ what I was doing. When I had filled the bottle to the required level, I’d hand it out the door to her, for processing.

She assured me her back would be turned away from the door (no peeking). That was of no consequence to me. The mere fact that there was someone waiting on the other side of a flimsy door while I was doing my business was enough to put a pretty solid clamp on my urethra.

I told her as much, and she looked at me strangely, as if to say “Really, you’re worried about pissing in a bottle?”

My behaviour was a little unusual, and I worried that she’d think that I was hiding a drug habit by suggesting I wouldn’t be able to do what she wanted. I joked with her that we might be here a while.

We worked our way through the other tests and questions. I passed the alcohol test with a perfect score of four zeros.

I passed the eyesight test. Almost a perfect score with my glasses on.

We were getting perilously close to taking a walk down the hall. The room we were sitting in was quite cold, and my experience is that the cold temperatures encourage urination. Was this a managed environment designed to make me pee? Cos I was feeling like I needed to relieve myself.

Nurse put on her blue latex gloves, and wrote down the official number on the bottle so that everything would be accurately recorded.

At the toilet door, she passed me the container, and I went into the cubicle. The top of the cistern was taped down, with a sign explaining why:

“This room is used for urine testing. Do not tamper with the cistern. It’s taped down for a purpose.”

I opened the top. I fumbled with both the container and my appendage, making a few necessary adjustments to increase comfort levels, and promote the flow of urine. Looking down, I waited.

And I waited a bit more.

I really did want to take a piss, but the stress of the situation was really hampering my ability to piss.

I looked up at the ceiling. That felt a bit better. Something was happening. I looked down. Nothing.

I looked up again and kept looking up. I’d heard that whistling can promote urination, but it might also cover the sound of whatever the nurse thought she needed to hear.

Something started happening. Not a steady stream, but a trickle. This was encouraging. I looked down to make sure my aim was true. I was on target, but in looking down, the flow weakened. I looked back up and the flow resumed.

Encouraged that I was actually doing this, I managed to relax just enought to squeeze out the required quantity. With some relief, I clicked the lid shut, and on that click, Nurse put her blue latex gloved hand through the door to take the bottle.

I shut the door, turned back to the toilet, and completed an unhindered, free-flowing, and welcome urination. Hallelujah! I had succeeded. I had PISSED IN A BOTTLE!

Of course, this urine test also passed.

My medical certificate for a driver's licence was handed over to me. I was all clear for action.

Now all I waited for were my referees to come through, and for an Offer of Employment to be made. More on that soon.