Way back when, during the hormonal crazed years of youth in junior high school, Jessica and I would head to the local YMCA to watch a particular boy or two. The pool was indoors, so we could watch the boys all year round, this one boy in particular. Jessica liked him. I liked him. Since we both liked him, that usually meant that she and he would date. This particular boy, however, might have been more clueless than the rest of them, unaware of our fancies.
This particular day of boy-watching, Jessica and I were more daring than normal and, well, may have (just MAY have) gone a little overboard in our displays of unrequited attractions. I vaguely recall that our going into the boy's locker room was the least of our transgressions that day. I must have buried the memories for all the other scandalous things we did, as I cannot remember a single one other than the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment these many years later.
There might have been an apple involved.
The following week, when we returned to the YMCA, we weren't allowed in. The facility had instituted a no-kids policy: anyone under 15 wasn't allowed into the facility without a parent or other adult. When we asked why the new policy, we were told last week some hooligans were ransacking the boy's locker room and causing a ruckus. They had complaints, and felt the best policy was to limit access of the delinquents.
Funny how a few bad apples can ruin freedom for the rest of the bushel.
Today, I rode the ferry over from Seattle to Bainbridge Island with a large amount of baggage. I had my roller bag full of my clothes and tournament garb. I had my field bag full of team warmups and camera gear for the tournament this weekend. I had my awesome new pink bag from Mom. I had my purse, er, backpack on my back. And I had my computer. Two video cameras. Two cellphones. Ten magazines. One book. Tons of crap. Moving it was a task, a big task.
On the ferry, I dumped everything in one side of the booth I was sitting in, and plunked all of myself down on the other side to start working. As with most of my trips, within minutes, I needed to go to the bathroom. I don't know what it is about being in situations where I can't go to the bathroom that causes me to HAVE to go to the bathroom. EVERY TIME.
After about twenty minutes, I REALLY had to go.
I had so much crap, and picking it all up to move it would be so difficult, a pain in the butt (and arms and back). But I had to go. After thinking about it for all of, oh, two minutes, I packed up all of my stuff, tucked it into one side of the booth, and waited for the people wandering around my area to reduce to a local minimum. I then grabbed the only bag that I really couldn't replace, stood up and turned to the bathroom.
I can't say I felt completely comfortable with leaving all of my crap in the booth while I dashed off, but I really, really had to go to the bathroom. This from the woman who locks her car doors when she drives her car into a locked police garage. Way worried about leaving my crap.
I managed to walk all of four steps towards the bathroom door, a journey of maybe 10 steps, when I saw one of the ferry's security people walking nominally in the same direction I was going. Except I didn't just see him, I saw him, he saw me, we locked eyes and stared at each other for the remaining six steps it took me to get to the women's bathroom. I broke eye contact when it was obvious my choices were look away or break my nose on the door jam.
Now, when you are about to do something that is frowned upon by the various powers that be in the small space you are currently inhabiting, or even frowned up by those who pretend to exert power in their own small dominion, but really don't have much power if you don't give it to them, rule number one really should be "Don't make eye contact." Rule number two should be "wait until they leave before you break the rules."
I went to the bathroom as quickly as I could. I doubt anyone I know could have entered that bathroom, done his business and vacated as quickly as I did just then. Saying I was quick even for myself is saying something, as few people can go faster than I can. Kris will confirm this. Just ask him what nickname he's given me with respect to my bowel movements. It has something to do with being the FPitW.
Yeah, so, I was fast. I had to be - that was my crap I was leaving alone.
I wasn't fast enough.
I dashed out of the bathroom just as the announcement, "Due to extra security measures and Washington state law, do not leave baggage unattended," began. The security person I eye-locked with on my way into the bathroom, was hovering over my bags as I left the bathroom. I wasn't sure exactly what he was about to say as he opened his mouth when I returned, but I preempted him quickly. "Oh! Thank you so much for watching my stuff. I was a little nervous about it. I REALLY appreciate it."
He looked at me, closed his mouth, looked at my stuff, back to me and said, "You're welcome."
When I sat down, I felt very much as I had when Jessica and I were refused entrance to the pool. Something like, "Well, crap."