The little V-meister had an unpleasant encounter with an auto-flush toilet at the mall the other day.
It was all I could do to convince her that the mighty force of the industrial potty would not take her down with it. And when she finally mustered up the courage to sit down, the dastardly auto-flush mechanism somehow triggered, sending poor V into a tailspin that could only be stopped with the purchase of a bag of gummy bears and some Auntie Annie’s pretzel sticks.
And I really feel for her.
Because the auto-flush toilet played a starring role in one of my first moments of public embarrassment.
It happened when I was about seven years old. The junior Lithuanian folk dance troupe of which I had recently become a member was to perform at a local middle school. It was my first public performance and I was decked out in full Lithuanian folk regalia.
To say I was nervous would be an understatement. Making a name for oneself in the junior troupe was an absolute necessity if one ever hoped to rise to the ranks of High School Dancers, who, back in their heyday, made it all the way to Rome to dance before the pope.
As any Lithuanian knows, there is no higher honor.
So there was the pope for starters. But there was also my dance partner, a dead-ringer for Michael J. Fox who was two entire years my senior and therefore an object of a mighty crush. He had freckles and feathered hair parted right down the middle. And you better believe he carried one of those enormous plastic combs in the back pocket of his lederhosen.
Just before the opening number, a real crowd pleaser that loosely translates to “Let Us Dance In a Circle,” nature called. I made it to the girls room with just minutes to spare before the show got underway.
Boy, did I have to go!
After spending a few minutes lining up several squares of TP along the sides of the bowl just so (I fart in your general direction, you pre-fab paper cutout shields), I was finally ready to sit down.
But just as I was hoisting my hiney upon the pot, the auto-flush mechanism, a thing I had not encountered in my short life to date, deployed.
Shell-shocked and unsure as to whether I should stop, drop, and roll or crouch against the nearest wall with my head tucked under until someone sounded the all-clear, I simply peed all over myself.
I did the best I could to freshen up, but I was realistic. Any hope of attracting positive attention from Micheal J. Fox had been hopelessly dashed, especially considering the close proximity in which one must execute Lithuanian dance moves and the fact that my outfit was made of wool.
Besides, due to the sheer embarrassment caused by my predicament, I was having a hard time remembering those moves and understood immediately that an audience with the pope was not in my future.
And I must admit that even to this day, I feel a little frisson of trepidation each time I walk into a highway rest stop to find myself faced with a toilet of the self-flushing variety.
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