OOPS!

My husband, our son and I had spent the day trout fishing. We were staying overnight at a motel. We were always tickled by the name of the Motel - Finn. The motel had no kitchenettes. We placed our catch for the day on ice.

We went out to eat for supper. There was a small, family-owned restaurant just a stone's throw from our motel. We knew we could count on it for good food as we had dined there often after a day of trout fishing. We were greeted by the hostess and she seated the three of us in a long, rectangular room in the back part of the restaurant.

There was a highway patrol officer at a table just to our left and down from us. He looked like he had had a rough day. He was relaxing with his meal before him. He was ready for a peaceful end to his shift, no chaos or commotion would dare to present itself. A young couple with a baby in tow occupied a table about two up from the highway patrol officer was seated. They were aglow with the love of being new parents. They were laughing and cooing to their baby. Apparently, from what we could hear of their conversation, their baby was ready to rock the world!

My husband, my son and I, each one, ordered our meal and our drinks. Our server brought our drinks out straight-away. We settled in to some chit-chat about our fishing adventure that day. Our son, who was five, was especially animated as he was just beginning to trout fish. He had caught three this day, by himself, save for the netting of the fish.

He announced that he had to go to the bathroom. I started to get up to escort him to the rest room. The restrooms were located about half way up this dining room, on the right side. There were two stalls, men and women, each having occupancy for one. My husband commented that our son could go by himself.

The restroom was located in a straight line from where we were seated. He said we can keep an eye on him from here. Our son looked at his daddy with the look only a little boy can give when the little boy realizes that his daddy thinks he's growing up. Our son walked down to the restroom door and attempted to open it. He could not get the door to open.

"Dad!" he called, in a stage whisper, "the door's stuck." His daddy stood up, straightened up, squared his shoulders, and boldly walked to answer his son's call for help. His son needed him. Pride was coursing through his veins. His son tugged on the door knob again and still, it would not open. He looked anxiously at his daddy. The call of nature was morphing into a scream. His daddy arrived at the door. He took hold of the door knob and gave it a mighty yank ...

What father and son did not know was that the lock on the inside of the door was broken. There was an older, bald-headed man sitting on the pot with his trousers down to his ankles. He had been holding on to the door knob from the inside to keep anyone from the outside coming in. He had been doing just fine holding the door against our son's tries to open it. He obviously was not prepared for the mighty yank that my husband gave the door knob. The bald-headed man on the pot still had hold of the door knob, and that mighty yank pulled him up and off the pot. The other diners in the room and myself looked on in horror as the door yanked open, with the bald-headed man still attached to the door knob, and his bald head popped out, introducing itself to all of us