Regular Life

Duke University’s Chapel pulpit has a, ummm… cathedral ceiling.

Things keep happening on this trip that keep me from posting my planned entries. Above is a hint of the post to come. I had to share the following while it’s still fresh and relevant. It has a bathroom theme, but it is not graphic, and frankly, it might top this trip’s car incident.

After lunch, we start a process that the computer tells us will take 17 minutes, so I decide to avail myself of the facilities. With that much time to kill, I also decide to take the hotel-provided USA Today with me. Stepping into that restroom is like stepping back in time. Nasty blue tile covers the floor and the five sinks feature three different types of faucets.

I’m sitting there, and I’ve just read some blurb about Julia Roberts doing a pretty good job in a Broadway role. Several minutes later, I’m performing the last step that everybody, male or female, has to complete before this duty is finished.

From the stall next to me comes a crashing sound and then water sprays through the space under the stall wall. It also is coming through the small gap between the divider wall and the support between the stalls, about six feet up. I look down. Water is pooling up at my feet. In the stall next to me, black shoes scramble around while their owner tries to get out of the stall and away from what must be an overwhelming amount of water. I work quickly to finish up. The water is above the soles of my shoes at this point and still spraying full force.

I open the stall door and turn left. A torrent of toilet water emanates from the neighboring stall, forming a wall of wetness that extends across to the mirrors above the sinks. Through it I see a classmate standing near the bathroom door.

This is when I ask the smartest question of the day.

I yell through the water, “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, I just tried to flush it!” he replies.

I have a flashback to my days playing in my grandparents’ sprinklers. Instead of the dry air and beating sun of central Kansas, I am in a dank bathroom. With the water rising, I know I am going to have to sacrifice my khaki Dockers. I run for it, which could result in a hilarious fall. Instead, I make it out with legs soaked from the knees down and my shirt barely touched.

Somehow, my USA Today is tucked under my left arm.

Water flows under the bathroom door to the carpeted hallway. I hurry down a narrow corridor. “Is there anybody back here who works here?” I yell. “Hello?”

A slender young man emerges from an office. “Yes, we’re calling somebody now,” he says.

Our instructor arrives at the scene. He says he typically tells students in this building, “If you want to see a bathroom from the 1950’s, go down that hall to the right. If you want to see one from the 1970’s, then go the other way.” The education division is temporarily housed in a building that the maintenance division abandoned. Funny how education gets the least consideration even at the corporate level. He points me to the 1970’s bathroom and I go there to wash my hands and tuck in my shirt.

When I get back to the classroom, the guys’ laughter dies down as the real victim finishes his story. They crack up when I enter the room. One of my lab partners tells me that he figured I was the one sitting in the stall next to the guy, considering the luck I’ve had this week.

As I left, high-powered Shop Vacs whined loudly as they sucked up the mess. They were run by none other than the maintenance men who formerly used that building.

On that note, I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.

I could not find my car at the DFW Airport parking lot, even though I wrote down the letters and numbers on the sign right in front of my car: C6 Level D. My body protested as I walked around looking and lugging all my stuff. I talked to the wrecker service, who said they did not have my car. I spent about 20 minutes trying to find somebody in the airport to help me, and finally a very nice young lady showed up in a Geo Metro or some such tiny white car. She drove me to the top of the “C” section (ugh) and within about one minute we found my car. I rolled up at home at about midnight. I never thought I would say I’m ready to go back to work. Well, unless staying home became an option.