Remember That Time...

Yesterday I told you about my day at the Beth Moore Simulcast. Today I'd like to tell you the OTHER half of that story.

Cindy, Marsha and I went to the Coliseum on Friday afternoon to get the WBCL table all set up and ready to go. There weren't very many people there that day {certainly not in comparison to the 11,000 the next day!!} and we were tucked away in a corner of the second floor, arranging and rearranging the table to our liking.

Our table was directly across from the women's bathroom so while Marsha and Cindy wrestled with some tiny lights and fall decor, I took a quick bathroom break.

I'd heard the Coliseum had just renovated all their bathrooms, and my goodness...they were fancy for an arena! Nicer than our bathroom at home, actually. {And considerably more toilets.}

I admired the size of the bathroom stall...and reached to unlock the door.

And it did not unlock.

I twisted it to the right, and it snapped hard and fast into place. I twisted it to the left, and the latch screeched to a halt exactly halfway through. No matter how much I pushed and pulled, rattled and shook, twisted and turned, that door would not unlock.


I don't know if you've ever been locked in a bathroom at an arena...an empty arena at that...but it's an interesting feeling. And by interesting, of course, I mean panic-inducing. I pulled my phone from my pocket and texted to Cindy, "Remember that time when I got locked in the bathroom?" - but she and Marsha were still wrestling the tiny battery-operated lights, and she didn't hear her phone.

Several moments later I finally got the door unlocked, and I ran to the {fancy pants} sink to wash my hands before escaping the bathroom. I don't care how nice and new it is...I had no desire to spend the night there.

The next morning, before the place flooded with women, I went back into the bathroom to try the lock. I'm not an idiot. I didn't go all the way in and lock it behind me. I stood with the door open and twisted the lock. It seemed to be moving better, so I went back to my post at the table.

An usher came by and I mentioned the debacle from the day before. She went inside and checked it out, before declaring it worked just fine. I tried not to raise an eyebrow and went about greeting the women at my table.

Halfway through the first session, when the halls were nearly empty, I stood alone behind the table. Beth's voice resonated from inside, and as I strained to hear her, a woman rushed out of the bathroom, came over to me and said with wide eyes, "Someone just got stuck in the bathroom and another lady had to let her out by using a coin in the outside of the lock."

I looked at her and said, "I know exactly what stall you mean." I went in search of the usher, who radioed for help. They had to shut down the entire bathroom while a handyman went inside with his toolbox to fix it.

So good that happened during a slow time. I can't imagine telling 50 women in a bathroom line that they'll have to go elsewhere while the stall lock gets fixed!

And in unrelated news...

...I sneaked in to take a picture or two of the worship team while they sang. I felt a hand on my shoulder and an usher pulled me aside. When she saw my station lanyard, she let me go, but she urged me to hurry and said, "They don't want you in the aisle. Fire hazard."

Now I've been called a lot of things in my day, but fire hazard is a new one. Exactly how much weight have I gained??

Let me tell YOU. That bathroom lock is a way worse fire hazard than me snapping a couple of pictures!

This concludes story time with Fire Hazard #1.