Not me but the ex's father...
When the ex-mrs-pmsc's father was first courting the ex-mrs-pmsc's mother he was in the Navy and stationed at Portland. At the tender age of 19 (she was 16, the filthy bugger) he'd got on his best suit to go to and meet the family for the first time over dinner in Bournemouth.

Of course, being 19 he was running very late, having decided to go to the pub beforehand for a bit of courage. To make matters worse, his car was a rusty old bucket, barely roadworthy and so full of holes in the bodywork that driving at any kind of speed threatened to tear the chassis in two. So he's bombing down the dual carriageway as fast as his poor car will carry him when his bladder demands to be emptied. There's nowhere to pull over. Turning off would only make him even later and he's desperate to make a good impression. What to do?

As I mentioned, the car was pretty much only held together by rust and the bodywork was full of holes, including a particularly impressive one in the driver's footwell. So, keeping one hand on the steering wheel at all times* he managed to unzip his fly and contort himself into a position from which he was able to relieve himself through the hole in the floor onto the road below. He claims to have managed this with no unsightly drops on his trousers, nor any splashback on his shoes.



*Probably. We'll also gloss over the fact that he had consumed an unspecified amount of lager before driving a long distance, at speed, in the dark. This was the 70's after all
(pmsc, Tue 20 Nov 2007, 13:00, Reply)