The Scariest Thing I've Ever Seen

Recently, I recalled an event from my freshman year of college that I had blocked from my memory (with good reason). I don't know why the story came rushing back to me, but it did. And I was slightly shocked to discover that I'd never told the tale to Amy Jo. After I told her she agreed that it merited a blog post. So here we go; I present to you: The Shower Incident.
*If you are pregnant, have a heart condition or are easily freaked out, you may not want to read The Shower Incident. May I suggest some of my more light-hearted blog postings such as Feminine Hygiene (Amy Jo's favorite) or any of the Random Things posts?*

Most freshman girls at Georgetown College live in Knight Hall (the infamous dormitory sans air conditioning); I am not one of those girls. I was the more illusive South Campus Freshman. I lived in Allen Hall, one of the non-Greek dorms on the Quad. Allen Hall was the least populated of all dorms--the entire second floor was left vacant (why I had to schlep up to the third floor is beyond me, but whatever, at least I had a nice buffer zone). Almost everyone in Allen Hall had a single room. The nice thing about a small dorm population is no waiting for the showers, fewer annoying neighbors, etc.

However, Allen was also the shadiest of girls' dorms. The lobby always smelled like a circus or petting zoo...specifically, camels (or that's what Laura and I decided). There were a variety of stories that accompanied Allen Hall and its residents. I'd also heard it referred to as "the dirty sex dorm" (but that's another story). I didn't mind these things. I liked Allen Hall. But allow me to recount one particularly intriguing morning during the spring of 2004.

I got up to get ready for my 8 A.M. class. As I made my way to the shower I heard one already running. You know how everyone has their morning routines? Well, naturally in a dorm situation your morning routine can coincide with someone else's. On these particular mornings, I always hit the showers at about the same time as another girl, Leslie (I'm pretty sure that's her name). She would almost always beat me in there and take the really good shower, leaving me to settle for the silver medal shower (which was still quite adequate).

So, I go to the bathroom and then brush my teeth (my standard routine to this day). As I'm brushing I hear the shower turn off. Sweet, she's done early! This meant I could get the really good shower and the day seemed to be off to a great start. I stand around waiting for her to emerge from the shower area. After a few minutes of loitering about the bathroom I decide to see what's going on.

This is the part of the story where I really need to paint a vivid picture for you. First I must set the scene. Each floor had 1 bathroom, with 4 showers (ahh, a small college). It just occured to me that it would take a long time to describe the bathroom. Thanks to the Paint program (not to mention my college education) I was able to draw a diagram of the bathroom. I don't want to brag, but it's a pretty good looking diagram. I have labeled the best and second best showers as 1 and 2. I don't remember/know if the others are in the right order because I can't recall ever using them. The shower stalls were divided just like bathroom stalls, with a gap between the stall and floor so you could see someone's feet.

Now that you can picture it, back to the story. I can't wait any longer; I don't know what the hell this girl is doing but I need to get ready. I turn to face the shower area and that's when I see it.

She is curled up, in the fetal position on the floor. Her back is facing shower #2, so you can imagine what is facing me (hint: not her head). And yes, she is naked. I can't count the number of things that ran through my mind at this very second, so here are the highlights:

1. What the fuck?
2. Why would you lay on that disgusting floor (a) ever, and (b) especially after taking a shower? It's like you're negating all the hard work you just did.
   
3. Is she OK? Is she drunk/passing out? *I quickly realized that she was not a partyer so the odds of her being drunk were slim.*
   
4. What do I do? Should I get the RA? Call 911?
   

Mind you, I have not been quiet since I've been in the bathroom. Sounds I assume she has heard since I entered the bathroom: my shower flippy-floppys slapping around, coughing/throat clearing/yawning, peeing, toilet flushing, running water in the sink, electric toothbrush, spitting. Not to mention the fact that we're always in the bathroom at the same time; she should damn well expect me to be there! I'm standing there, absolutely in shock as to how I should proceed. And that's when she started shaking.

She wasn't violently convulsing or anything, so it wasn't a seizure. She was just sort of...shaking. I won't lie to you, I thought it was something ummm, sexual. I get it: you're single, you're lonely, you've got needs...but you've also got a private room for the love of God! But, thanks to the way she had positioned herself, I could see ALL up in her business so I soon realized that was not what was going on. Not that I'd ever even considered this as a career, but that was the moment I knew I had no desire to enter the field of gynecology.

I snap out of my shock and realize I plain ol' don't have time for this madness. I grab my shower caddy and hop into shower #2. She jumps up faster than anything I've ever witnessed! She was up and out of that bathroom in a flash! That was another clue that she had complete control over herself.

Somehow, I manage to go about my business and put this situation out of my mind for the remainder of the morning. Honestly, I don't think I could've verbalized it at that point even if I had wanted to. Fast forward to lunch time. It's noonish and I'm in my usual noon-time locale, The Caf. I've finished eating and am walking back to a table full of sorority sisters after taking my trash, plate, etc. up to the Hole (yes, that's what we called the place where you took your dirty dishes). And who should be walking into the Caf at this moment? You guessed it, Leslie.

Suddenly, the entire event comes rushing back to me. Naturally, I took one look at her, screamed and ran across the Caf to get away. I desperately needed closure...after weeks of pondering what happened that morning, I told my RA. I feigned concern over Leslie's health and well-being and told the story as though I just wanted to make sure she was OK. I already had that answer, Leslie was anything but OK! I needed to know precisely what was wrong with her.

Unfortunately, I was never able to find out. To this day, I don't know why she did what she did. I have a list of questions I plan on asking God when I get to Heaven. What's the real scoop on the dinosaurs? Whatever happened to Amelia Earhart? And what, what was that girl doing in the shower? And that is the scariest thing I've ever seen in my 24 years.

Biscuit World

I want to tell you about a magical place. A magical place called Biscuit World. I recently went on a weekend trip to Washington, D.C. and while driving through the Grayson/Ashland area I saw a sign for a place called Tudor's Biscuit World. As you can imagine, the entire car was intrigued. None of us had ever heard of Biscuit World, but we knew that it had to be great.

As we drove through West Virginia, we saw more and more signs for Biscuit World! It soon became clear that we were meant to eat at Biscuit World. We decided that on the way home, we would stop there. And somehow, we knew it would be amazing.

Fast forward to the end of our trip. We're driving home and we are hungry. My iPhone research of Biscuit World had taught me that the chain exists only throughout West Virginia and a few select locations in Kentucky and Ohio. It was obvious that we were going to have to wait for biscuity goodness. I began awarding everyone in the car biscuits for good behavior. We had it planned perfectly, we would hit the Biscuit World in Grayson just around dinner time.
Before we knew it, the Grayson exit was upon us...but there was no Biscuit World listed on the sign. We freaked out. We got off at the exit anyway, Liz ran into a gas station to get the scoop. It was the longest couple of minutes in our lives.

After what seemed like an eternity, Liz came running out of the gas station giving us the thumbs up. We all screamed from excitement! When she asked the clerk if there was a Biscuit World nearby he said, "Tudor's Biscuit World?" As though there is some other Biscuit World we might be speaking of. Apparently, Biscuit World was right down the road, next to a Rite Aid. We sped down the road, eyes peeled for Rite Aid--and then I saw it! "Rite Aid!" I screamed.

We had made it. We pulled into the parking lot and that's when we discovered that Biscuit World, was closed. Apparently, Biscuit World opens at 5 in the morning; and on Sundays, they close at 2 P.M. Naturally, we did the only thing we could do: banged on the windows, tried to open the back door, took sad pictures and resigned ourselves to writing them a note. I wrote them a pretty powerful note about how excited we had been to visit their fine establishment and that we knew one day we would enjoy Biscuit World biscuits. My friends then made a video of me reading the note aloud at the Biscuit World entrance. We left the note under a giant rock in front of their entrance and continued on our journey home.

The craziest part about the Biscuit World saga is that no less than 5 people have commented to me that they have either been to Biscuit World (and it is good) or that they too have seen the signs and always wanted to go some day. My friends and I plan on going sometime soon, and we hope that they have our note framed and hanging proudly on the wall. When we arrive we will tell them that we are the now famous Erin, Laurel, Liz, Amy and Katie from the Biscuit World letter and I assume they will give us free biscuits.

A Back in Black Recommendation

Apparently I have gained a bit of a following at Amy Jo's office. I'd like to give a shout out to the folks at Ashland/Valvoline. I'm glad I can cause laughter so uproarious that it makes your boss come out of his office to see WTF is so funny. It's kind of surreal because I write these things and I sometimes forget about people reading them. Maybe that's because I rarely read other blogs.

But as long I'm talking about other blogs, I've got a great one to recommend! It's called Cake Wrecks and there's a link under Other Blogs I Enjoy. It's pictures of cakes that are either strange or so poorly done that it's hilarious! I laugh every time I look at it! I don't want to give anything away...just visit the site!

Enough about other blogs, let's get back to talking about me. I'm beginning to believe that I'm a born storyteller; not only do I love telling stories, I love hearing my own stories. I never realized what an art it was until listening to other people tell stories poorly. A few weeks ago, I was telling stories to some folks and a woman I never met commented that she just loved listening to me talk. At first I thought maybe her compliment was going to my head, but I'll be damned if she wasn't right! So blog readers new and old, sit back and enjoy because I don't plan on stopping anytime soon.

Elusive Currency and Vacuum Cleaner Salesmen

In my last post (Facebook Groups and Weddings) I mentioned a $6 rum and Coke I had at a wedding. I paid with a twenty. When the bartender handed me my change, he gave me a $2 bill. What the hell is this, Monopoly? I hate when people give me rare currency. It just doesn't feel real to me. The $2 bill, the $1 coins and the dreaded Canadian quarter are the worst things that can happen to you in any financial situation.

I've completely lost my train of thought, and I don't think I can regain it until I explain how it got lost. I was sitting here typing when the doorbell rang. Amy Jo was expecting someone to come by so I didn't even look before I opened the door. Imagine my surprise to see a different guy standing at my doorstep. He explained to me that they were offering to vacuum a room to get people's opinions about the new Kirby vacuum. If I didn't like the vacuum I would get $10 just for them wasting my time. For a moment, I thought I had opened a door to the past and that it outside my house it was 1950 and I had encountered a legitimate door-to-door vacuum salesman. The general shadiness of the situation was compounded by the fact that he didn't have a vacuum with him. As you may imagine, I declined his offer. So needless to say, I've completely forgotten what I wanted to say about currency. Now all I can think about is vacuums.