You may think I’m smooth. You may think I’m edgy. You may think I’m graceful, cool, and collected. You’d be thinking wrong on all accounts.
I’m a klutz, a dork. My small-boned, English rose exterior hides a wreaker of havoc, a visitor of multitudinous emergency rooms, a woman whose ability to get into ridiculous situations is legendary.
Just this morning, I bumped my head, hard, on our breakfast bar, for no reason other than I’d forgotten, for the fortieth time, that it juts out from the counter, and that, when I’m picking a Cheerio up from under it, I must move in a way so my head clears the overhang. Luckily, my four-year-old son, with an efficiency born of much experience, pulled Boo-Boo Bear from his special place in our freezer and applied him to the fast-swelling knot on the back of my head.
And just two days ago, I came this close to perishing, yes, perishing–in a bathroom stall in a public restaurant, no less.
Having to avail myself of the facilities is, unfortuately, all too frequent for this 40-something mother of two. In this case, the toilet stall had one of those sliding latches on the door, but my latch wouldn’t slide. After playing with it for several seconds, I realized that the knob that held the latch on was racheted too tightly. I loosened it slightly, slid the latch to, and gave the knob a twist to hold it in place. Then I took care of my business.
When I reached to undo the latch, I realized that my incredibly strong fingers had turned the knob too tightly. It was well stuck. I was well stuck. I pulled, I gripped, I jiggled. To no avail. Then I heard someone else in the bathroom. Just as I was about to call out to her, to explain my silly predicament, I heard the door swing shut, and I was plunged into darkness. Being a conscientious enviro-type, she’d flicked off the light as she left the room. Clearly, she had not realized that she was leaving me locked in a two-by-two stall in the dark, with only dirty porcelain and cold tile for company.
So, there I was, locked in a toilet stall in the pitch-black dark. By myself. Would I have to yell until some poor soul walked by and decided to investigate? Would they decide not to investigate, remembering last week’s story about what happened when two Panther cheerleaders were confronted in a toilet stall? Should I just wait there until someone else decided to use the facilities? Could I wait? I mean, I couldn’t see anything. What if something was crawling up the plumbing pipes right now? Something that had been lying in wait for just such a moment? An evil creature, covered in excrement, that would leap from the toilet bowl cackling with glee at discovering my inability to escape?
In a moment of adrenaline-fueled panic, using all my meager strength, I pushed the latch once more. It moved–a centimeter. I pushed again. I wrenched that damnable little silver knob, cursing it mightily. Spawn of the devil knob. Demon knob. Knob belonging in the seventh circle of Hell. Burn, knob, burn.
Finally, succumbing to my anger, the knob spun, the latch released. The stall door hit me in the face. And I ran.
UPDATE: I submitted this post to November’s Blogging For Books (B4B) contest, and it has been chosen as a top seven finalist. Woohoo! Go to Joshilyn Jackson’s blog for information about B4B and to read the other finalists’ stories and misadventures.
Wow, that toilet story was scary. I think I see the next “Survivor” locale.
You know how I can tell that this is fiction?
Because you say you’re over 40, and I KNOW that can’t be true…
silly,
excrement covered monsters only live in the MENS bathroom. ( I know… I went in one once)
This might be the BEST monday post I have ever read, EVER. Drama, intrigue, the fight or flight choice, and the bathroom. Perfect.
Absolutely riotous! Thanks so much for sharing it…
SC is smooooooth!
I, too, have taken arms against the Evil Knob in the Bathroom in times past! A valiant foe, it seeks to keep what it cannot have. Defiance is the key to success, as you have so clearly shown!
Very, very funny. Thanks.
that is some funny s**t. seriously.
When in DC a few weeks ago, I was locked, alone, in a bathroom when the light went out. Scary.
But not that scary. Go you.
Now that’s some funny stuff! I might look a bit insensitive for saying this but I had a good ole laugh at this one!
I don’t know… even after that story, I still think you’re smooth.
I apologize for laughing, but that was funny.
It’s okay to laugh, guys. It’s supposed to be funny!
Thanks for the kudos. Glad you all enjoyed my tale.
Sure helps me feel better to know I’m not the only one having ridiculous stuff happen!
We might be related…
several years ago i almost got arrested at l.a.x. for kicking a bathroom stall door open and breaking the jamb in half. that was fun, smooth-talking l.a.x. security guards. (this was pre-9/11, too; i can only imagine how much trouble i’d be in now. i’d almost prefer the crawling poopmonster, honestly…)
“And I ran. Straight into a wall.”
See this bathroom incident shows the difference between Men and Women. Most women would have done exactly as you had done. Most men on the other hand would have handled it differently. For example most men probably would have just gotten down on the floor and crawled under the door leaving it jammed like that. Gone turned on the lights, then half would leave the restroom here while the other half would return to wash their hands before leaving.
Shut Up! That was one of your best posts EVER! E-V-E-R!
“An evil creature, covered in excrement, that would leap from the toilet bowl cackling with glee at discovering my inability to escape?”
I so pictured this creature of excrement all rodent like with large teath and an enormous probiscus!
My hands are typing but if they weren’t, they’d be applauding.
Locked in a crapper. My biggest fear.
crapped in a locker. that actually happened…
This is a really good story. You took something embarassing and made it oh so comical. Way to go EM!
Too, funny. Incredibly funny. Thank you for the enjoyable read it will keep me chuckling all day.
God, I love B4B