Newsletter: September 1, 2004
I guess you could say that whether I'm conscious of it or not, a small
amount of my mental resources are dedicated to protecting me from
embarrassment. It's a comforting thought that a part of my brain is vigilantly on duty to
protect me from myself and from those events that might be more that a tad
bit humiliating. This is the part of the brain that handles the showing up naked for
work problem or the purchase of the velvet Elvis shirt at the mall.
So far my embarrassment avoidance system has steered
me clear of most of the daily land mines out there, but fate has a way of evening the
score in a way that you cannot predict.
Normally, when you end up in some sort of foolish situation, you check to see how many
people witnessed the event. If only one or two people noticed your blunder
and you don't know them, then maybe nothing happened at all. It's the event
that occurs in front of a large audience or in front of people who know
you that makes the headlines. Well, I'm here to tell you about my own brush with
embarrassment and because not many people were able to witness it I will try
to reconstruct the events. Honestly, I almost can't believe that it
happened to me.
It was an ordinary Thursday night and I was planning on going to bed early.
I was in my bathroom, brushing my teeth and because there was a breeze
coming through the window, I decided to shut my door. That didn't seem to be a
life altering action until I went to leave the bathroom and found the door
to be locked. I went for the twisty thingy on the knob and realized that
not only is this door locked, but now the lock is also broken!
I worked on the knob for about 20 minutes before prying the lock out with a
spoon. No luck! It just wasn't going to open. I then mentally went through
my options and realized that I couldn't kick the door down because it opened
in. I dug at the latch with the spoon for a while which gave me the feeling
of progress, but not much else. I eventually pushed out the door hinges
with the spoon and when the door still didn't open, I began to see that I
had a real problem on my hands.
I'm not prone to panic, but there were a few thoughts that passed through my
head as I sat on the edge of the toilet, looking at the door. If I don't
get this door open, it might be four or five days before anyone notices that
I'm missing. Since it was already midnight by this point, it was pretty apparent
that I wasn't going to get out of this without some sort of humiliating
act. It would either come in the form of screaming for help and hoping that my
neighbors would hear me and call the police or it was just possible that I could
tunnel through the wall with my trusty spoon.
I went through each option in my head for another half hour or so before I
decided on a final plan. I was going to attempt an escape through the tiny
window above my sink! The window appeared to be about four or five
inches too small for me to fit, but my desire to escape certain death on the floor of my bathroom
gave me the ability to squeeze through to freedom. My joy lasted only about 30 seconds
before I realized that I was now on the roof of my
house with no shoes on and no way to get down. It was either going to be a
two story jump to the ground, or a one story jump to the hand railing on my
patio. The railing jump seemed like the best plan, but I would have to make a perfect
landing on a two inch rail after hanging by my fingers from the side of the roof. I told myself that it couldn't be that tough
because I had just seen all the gymnasts landing on the narrow wooden beam all night on the Olympics.
The Olympics must not have been completely inspiring though because some time later, I was still
sitting on the edge, thinking about falling to my death in my neighbor's yard. Without shoes, and a
few hours into my ordeal, I decided to go back to my
original plan and grovel in humiliation. I yelled for help and hoped
at least one of my neighbors was home and wouldn't mind coming out in the middle of the night
to see what kind of nut was up on the roof.
Luckily, one of my neighbors was home and after explaining my situation, they called my dad and
he came out to free me.
From what I hear, there's nothing better than getting a call in the
middle of the night from some stranger saying, "You don't know me but your son is
trapped on the roof of his house and he wants you to come over with a toolbox."
My sister summed up the experience in one quick phrase, "At least you weren't naked!"
I might have thought twice about writing THAT story for everyone here but
with all the people my parents know, it was bound to get out! I hope that you enjoyed my moments of
embarrassment and all I can tell you at this point is that it would probably be a good idea to never go
into a bathroom without some tools, a cell phone, and my dad's phone number!
~SM~
|
