Locked in the Bathroom
Was listening to Jon Johnson on WIP last night on the way home. He brought up the issue about Carson Wentz getting locked in the bathroom at a gas-station in New Jersey a short while back.
Jon said he’d love to hear Wentz describe the incident. Based on Wentz’ explanation of how he coped with the situation, Jon wondered if he might be able to predict whether or not Carson Wentz was going to be a good NFL quarterback.
And then Jon posed: How can anyone over the age of ten get locked inside a bathroom?
Well, Jon – let me tell you exactly how that can happen.
A couple or three years back, I was getting ready for work around 4 o’clock on a hot summer afternoon.
Stripped off my clothes and entered the bathroom. Closed the door behind myself and took a shower. Stepped out of the shower and toweled off.
Grabbed the door knob and gave it a turn – but the sonavabitch spun all the way around without opening the door. You see, the doorknob was really old and near the top of my to-do list to be replaced. But I’d put the chore off for some time.
Spun it a couple more times – but of course got the same result.
I was locked inside the bathroom – my cellphone sitting on the coffee table in the living room and my clothes laying on the bed in the bedroom. So I was incommunicado and naked – except for the towel I just used to dry myself.
Went to the window, looked outside, and saw a couple youngsters playing in the yard one house over. Looked like they were around ten – but I’d never once spoken to any of them. They’d just moved into the neighborhood.
Besides – since my only clothing was the towel – I figured it was a bad idea for a naked stranger to start waving to the children and calling them over.
So my only choice was to somehow squeeze out the window.
I had two options:
Well, the window’s a good four-and-half-feet above the bathroom floor. Without a ladder to climb, that pretty much precluded going feet-first. And without a trapeze on the ceiling, there was no way I was going to lift my body above the window – and there was no trapeze in the bathroom.
The bedroom is another story – but there’s definitely no trapeze in the bathroom.
- The dropoff to the ground outside was a good nine feet – onto a concrete patio below.
- I was a 70-year-old man with two Titanium hips.
- How many bones would I break upon landing?
- Would I hit my head and kill myself?
- And – oh, yeah – gravity was going to displace that towel to the point where I would basically be – pardon my French – balls-ass naked during the drop.
Which would certainly give those youngsters something to tell their grandchildren about.
So I concluded that neither feet-first nor head-first was a viable option.
More French – How the fuck was I going to get out of the bathroom?
Went back to the window and looked outside again. Lo-and-behold, there was now a parental figure with the youngsters – a male I’d neither seen before nor spoken to. But that didn’t matter under the circumstances – he was now the key to my escape.
So I leaned out the window and started yelling “Help . . . Help.”
I got his attention but a communication problem immediately presented itself – he didn’t speak English. So I used sign-language to convey my message – which more or less boiled down to waving at him and continuing to yell “Help.”
He got the message, climbed the fence, and came over. Which placed him outside the bathroom window – nine feet below.
Could I go head-first and hope he caught me before I hit the ground?
I didn’t see that happening. Plus he’d wind up with a naked stranger in his arms and give him something to tell his grandchildren about.
Thinking fast, I searched my memory bank for some sort of solution. Any sort of solution – and Ding-Ding-Ding. It hit me. I’d left the back door unlocked.
I quick pantomime of hand signals and verbiage and he got the message. Seconds later, the doorknob turned and the bathroom door opened.
Jon – that’s exactly how one can get locked inside a bathroom.
By the way, do I have the mental prowess to be a good quarterback?
In addition to being the official Eagles Outsider for BlameMyFather.com, Barry Bowe is also the author of: