Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Trapped In The Closet ... i.e. The Bathroom


This story is good if only for how unbelievably embarrassing it is. Embarrassing for me. The story takes place at APT during its heyday. If you don't know what APT is, it is a bar in the meatpacking district in Manhattan which used to be incredibly trendy and hard to get into. During this time, a friend of mine who had recently moved back to New York started hanging out there every night. Anyhow, he calls and asks if me and a friend want to go, no problem getting in, and we say YES!!!

Upon getting there, I immediately view the place as a mecca. Everyone is attractive and trendy, the place is super nice, and the scene is good. This was not my experience the first time I went to Marquee, which was coincidentally hosting a large law firm party the night I was there, forcing me to be surrounded by douchebags, one of which actually pet my head several times. I digress.

After a drink, I realize I have to go to the bathroom. BADLY. I am a little tipsy, but nothing serious. As I am finished doing my business, I go to open the door and realize I can't. I am locked in. At this point, I start panicking, totally freaking out that I am going to humiliate myself when I walk out. I start grabbing at the door, and can't open it no matter what I do. All of a sudden, the knocking from outside starts. People are on line waiting. I start thinking "Jesus fucking Christ, open the door asshole! These people are going to think you are some drunk idiot fuck who can't answer the door." They would be right, I was some drunk idiot fuck who couldn't open the door. The situation could only be made worse if I had gone number two and clogged the toilet, in connection with being locked in.

More knocking came, at which point I started banging yelling "HELP, I can't open the door. I am locked in, don't let me die!!!!!" I hear people outside saying "Holy shit, she is locked in! Someone HEELP!" and I can feel the knob being turned by people outside trying to help me. The voices continue to multiply, until I realize that the whole bar is surrounding the bathroom where I, the biggest Turd Ferguson ever, am locked in. After what seemed like an eternity (i.e. 2 minutes), the door busts open and it is my friend who brought me there, who randomly had a key to the ladies room (this being a little disconcerting, but nonetheless). Upon my rescue, people waiting on line immediately rose up with applause, clapping and chanting, patting me on the back, saying things like "That was a close one." I found the whole situation to be fairly similar to what the community must have felt like in the 80s with that whole kid falling down the well situation.

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