Thursday, June 29, 2017


April 7, 1995
      I've been taking bridge lessons from Anne Bell two nights a week, Mondays at Milton High School and Tuesdays at the Hingham Community Center. This week we had our last class on Wednesday night at the school to make up for the one we would miss on Easter Monday. My friend Mary and I were late, so we didn't have time to go to the Ladies' Room after our long drive. That was okay, one could always seize the opportunity when one was Dummy.
     The school's disagreeable janitor appeared in the doorway of our class, wanting to know what we were doing there. He acted skeptical of Anne's answer that she had notified the appropriate authorities. Scowling, he slouched away. I never thought to call after him, "Are the Rest Rooms open?" I should have remembered that we'd had this problem with him the first couple of sessions. He seemed to begrudge us the use of the school's facilities and the imposition on his time.
      In the middle of our first round, my bladder informed me it was time to go. I sat tight until I was Dummy, then hurried down the long corridors leading to the Rest Rooms. I thought to myself, I'll bet they're locked. If so, I had a contingency plan I'd thought of as I passed the trash barrels.
     Both Rest Rooms were indeed locked, so I rushed back to the barrel that was on the further side of a narrow partition with a window in it. I grabbed the large plastic liner and retreated behind the partition, where I trusted I would be unseen if anyone came out of Anne's class.
     I was flooding the bag’s interior, when I looked up. A few feet away stood the school's other janitor, a chap with thinning reddish hair, who was staring at me in shock and disbelief. I stared back at him with the same expression. As I yanked up my clothes, I dithered an explanation of my bizarre behavior. Then I carefully folded down the top of the plastic bag and handed him my specimen.
      "Perhaps you could take care of this," I suggested. He accepted my gift and walked toward the Rest Rooms without going downstairs for the key. I think he didn't believe they were locked. He thought I was the kind of nut who always pees in trash barrels. Talk about your bag ladies.
      I took Anne aside to tell her what had happened. She got hysterical. I told Agnes, my bridge partner. She got hysterical and said I'd have to write about it. So here it is, my latest Most Embarrassing Experience.
      "I'm glad this is the last class," I said to Anne. "They're never going see my face or any other feature again."
      I'll close now -- gotta go to the trash barrel.

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