On Saturday, I was in DVMTA's 25th annual Cavalcade of Rhythm. It was fun--Jon Schmidt was there! We got his autograph and a couple of pictures. Woot. Besides some annoying teenagers who thought they were better than the teachers (like, totally ugh), it was a nice night.
So, after the performances, we were helping clean up the auditorium. (My mom was on the Cavalcade committee--as she seems to be a lot.) After I picked up a few used tissues and wrappers, I decided that I really should wash my hands.
No big deal right?
Haha. Leave it to me to mess that one up.
I walk into the bathroom and start washing my hands. Doo doo doo. Then I look over to my left and think "Hmm, since when have there been urinals in the women's bathroom?" Slowly, it begins to dawn on me: maybe I'm not in the women's bathroom. I hurriedly finish washing my hands and leave the bathroom. Sure enough, the sign outside says "Men".
How did I not even look to check which bathroom I was going into?! Honestly, I have no idea. It made perfect sense to me. I guess I forgot that I was at Mountain View instead of Dobson. Even then, though. Really.
As I escaped the scene of the crime, I looked up and noticed that the husband of one of the piano teachers was standing against the wall playing on his phone. He kind-of looked up when I emerged, but I ran away too fast to see the look on his face. He probably thought I was a pretty sick weirdo. (Who knows, maybe I am...)
Boy am I glad that Jon Schmidt didn't decide he needed to use the bathroom at that moment. Or any other man in the building, for that matter.
Delinquent Dr. Carpenstein out.
Coming Soon: Adventures in Public Transportation!
You know, I probably shouldn't be this willing to share my embarrassing stories with the world, but this one was just too funny to pass up.
3 months ago