An Unexpected ‘Drop In’ at An Unlikely Place

A word of warning: The next time you think you’re safe and cozy inside your bathroom stall doing your business – think again.

Back in 1990, I sat in a movie theater with two close friends watching Kevin Costner’s character assume his Indian name “Dances with Wolves.” We were instantly compelled to assign ourselves our own names. I was “Walks with Crutches.” My friends were “Drinks Like a Sailor” and “Cusses Like a Trucker,” respectively.

The thing is – I do walk with crutches – I have all my life. I have cerebral palsy. While I never let it define me, throughout middle school and high school, I was extremely self-conscious and perpetually embarrassed.

When I walked down the hall between classes lots of kids would see me coming and quickly look away. That felt like a knife twisting in my stomach every time. I knew I was “different” – still, when someone tries so hard not to flinch at the sight of you that they look away – that’s tough to process – especially at 15 or 16.

I should clarify, though, that I’ve never let anything stop me. I was blessed with super supportive parents. I also have an amazing group of friends. We all laughed at ourselves in one way or another during those awkward high school years. Haven’t we all?

We also tried to score a few “perks” now and then. It took me a while to get from one class to another. So, my teachers would let me out a few minutes before the bell to get to my next class on time– along with a friend to carry my books. As the year wore on, the number of minutes we left Mr. H’s Biology class got bigger – and bigger – and at 25 minutes early, I can’t say I blamed him when he demanded we stay put …

Walking with crutches has inherent risks that my friends and I still try to mitigate. Ice is not crutch-friendly, for example. Neither is a cobblestone path or uneven pavement. If my crutch tip hits a wet spot on the floor from people’s shoes, I'll probably go down.

I’m like 4’10” at most. So, it’s not like I’ve ever had a long way to fall. Still, most falls are harsh because I can’t throw my hands out to stop myself. I sort of go down like a chopped tree – a hard, straight drop.

Most of the time I try to walk slowly to avoid falling – not that I could ever walk fast anyway.

Another thing about me: I cuss way too much.

I could write a book about the number of times I’ve blurted totally inappropriate phrases out of my mouth. I’ve probably said the wrong thing at the wrong time too many times to count. In fact, I’ve sheepishly confessed that “My Stupid Mouth” by John Mayer is my anthem – and pretty much all my friends agree.

So, in the “Dances with Wolves” scenario, I could easily be called “Walks with Crutches-and-Cusses Like a Trucker.” It surprises a lot of people. Who would ever think the sweet, short girl on crutches can channel Joan Cusack in the delivery room in “Nine Months”?

Unfortunately, because “Walks with Crutches” can become “Falls with Crutches” in an instant, I’ve experienced a wealth of totally unexpected, ridiculously embarrassing falls. Out of the multitude, there is a reigning cringeworthy chart-topper.

To set the scene, it was the mid-80s. Back then, lots of teens (including me) were into big hair, headbands, leg warmers, and strapless halters when the occasion called for it.

And we can't forget '80s music. I still love Rick Springfield and Bon Jovi. But I really loved them at 16:

Wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve rock ballads were also the rage. My friends and I made mixtapes for the boys we loved who didn’t love us back. Yes – we had built-in cassette decks in our cars, and we wore those rewind buttons out belting “Open Arms,” by Journey, “Can’t Fight This Feeling,” by REO Speedwagon, “You’re the Inspiration” by Chicago, and so many more …

I was in between classes on that fateful day. My book buddy went onto the next class with my books and I needed to stop off at the bathroom. The bell rang just as I got there. A throng of girls hit the stalls and crowded around the sink, whipping their combs out of their back pockets, teasing their hair, and rolling on lip gloss.

Nobody really paid attention to me – probably because I’m so short, I’m hard to see in a crowd. Plus, I never really fussed with my appearance - if my makeup rubbed off after first hour, I never bothered to reapply it.

At that moment, I panicked because I really had to go, and the only open stall was the very last one. From where I stood, it looked (and felt) like a mile.

I started inching along sideways, behind the makeover mob. My heart was pounding and my bladder threatened to burst. I silently prayed I wouldn’t pee my pants and then suddenly, someone directly in front of me started laughing, took a step back, and bumped into me.

I have no equilibrium. So, the jolt knocked one of my crutches out from under me and I fell back against the closed stall door behind me. Instead of bracing my fall (as I expected), the door shot wide open and I fell, back first, right onto a girl’s lap. She was seated, pants down, as I crashed onto her thighs.

We screamed simultaneously and I shouted a stream of cuss words as she jumped up and I tried to roll sideways.

She flew out of the bathroom as fast as she could while a few girls stood there with their mouths hanging open. Obviously, from witnessing the startling “incident” – but probably also from hearing the choice words “f-bomb” combinations that tumbled out of my mouth.

I scrambled to my feet as best as I could. Thankfully, the shock must have locked down my bladder because suddenly I didn’t have to go to the bathroom anymore.

That horrifying moment is still so embarrassing that it nauseates me every time I think about it. Who does that? Who “drops in” on a person while they’re using the bathroom? (Helplessly raising a hand here!)

The worst thing is, I’d never really seen the girl before. But after that day, I saw her all the time. In the lunchroom. In the library. Walking down the hall. It was crazy. We both turned 12 different shades of red with each passing. I’m pretty certain we were individually and collectively mortified.

Decades later, I still am. I think about her now and then. I wonder if she got married, had kids, or maybe even grandkids by now. I envision this family crowded around her dinner table sharing their embarrassing stories and I wonder if she ever piped up and said, “This one time, in 9th grade, I was going to the bathroom and I thought the door was locked, and then bam! ...”

It's sort of like an inside joke between us. I wonder if my most embarrassing moment is also her most embarrassing moment (through no fault of her own, of course!)

I also wonder if she double-checks the lock on the stall when she uses a public bathroom. Does she plead with her kids to do the same?

I know I do. I must also confess that avoid crowded bathrooms at all costs, and I never walk sideways or try any fancy maneuvers with my crutches.

To reiterate my warning: The next time you think you’re safe and cozy inside your bathroom stall doing your business – think again - and check the lock. Literally, anything – or anyone could drop into your lap unannounced.