TIM E HOLDER

Okay, so I think I’ve gotten past the “embarrassed to the point of total mortification” stage to talk about it now.

A few weeks ago, on a normal, uneventful Sunday morning, I was standing in the choir room at 8:20, getting ready to go on stage to worship. All of us choir members normally gather upstairs in the choir room by 8:15 to run through the choir song, and then just hang until we single file it downstairs and on to the stage.

Coffee decided to set in.

I knew there were about 10 minutes to spare so I dashed to the “men’s room.” I knew this would have to be a quick trip, no reading the newspaper, so I raced into the stall. And, as is my normal discipline, I flushed the toilet, just to make sure all was well with the plumbing. On this particular occasion, I did notice there was CLEAN toilet paper in the bowl. Unfortunately, I was already prepared to sit. For some unexplainable, unforseeable reason, the commode exploded. Water went everywhere. Like in a nano second. I was apparently in shock. I just stood there waiting for the tide to ebb back out to sea… Or maybe waiting for Moaning Myrtle to come screaming from the depths of the Chamber of Secrets. Nonetheless, it was a few seconds before I realized water was all over the floor, swirling around my dropped khaki’s and out the door.

When I finally became conscious, I grabbed my pants up. I grabbed them up so fast in fact, both my wallet and iPhone, both nestled snuggly in my back pockets, popped out and into the small creek forming in the men’s room.

I wasn’t sure what to grab first, my pants or my wallet/phone combo. I was in The Matrix. The blue pill or the red pill? I grabbed the combo. They were both soaked. I laid them to the side and then grabbed my pants up. They, too, were soaked. But just the back of them was soaked. The front of my pants was resting comfortably on my shoes.

I knew it was only a couple of seconds before I was supposed to be on stage. I couldn’t see how bad the “wet” was since most of it was on the back of my pants. I ran into the now empty choir room and threw the combo into my music locker. I ran down the stairs, on to the risers, and deliberately stood on the back row so no one could see me from behind. I sang with all the gusto I could muster as I enjoyed the feeling of toilet water running down my legs and pooling onto the riser at my feet. For approximately 20…25 minutes.

Of course, the worship time would soon come to an end and the choir would be climbing back up the stairs to the choir room. Being on he back row, I would be climbing the stairs in front of everyone else. You have no idea how difficult it is to climb up 14 steps, backwards, with 40 people watching me make a complete dipstick of myself. Or removing all doubt from their previously undecided minds.

Anissa Hodges was right behind me, or in front of me, whatever your point of view. She just looked at me and I said, “The commode exploded…NOT MY DEBRIS…pants were on the floor. They’re soaked in the back.”

By this time we were at the choir room so I turned around and continued my journey. And then Anissa said, “Oh…that’s why there’s toilet paper on the back of your pants.” I just KNEW she was joking. “STOP IT!!! That’s not even close to funny.” I could feel the red rising from my forehead to the back of my neck as she said, “Well, not exactly toilet paper. More like toilet paper beadlets.” “You have GOT to be kidding me.” Her husband Mark was right behind her and he said, “Um…no…there really is. Come on.”

Mark ushered me, immediately, into the bathroom and grabbed some paper towels and courageously, dauntlessly proved what a true friend looks like. He began swatting my butt with paper towels. Suddenly, a tenor walked into the bathroom and froze, mid-stride, and just stared. Mark, not missing a beat said, “Somebody has to do it.” When he was convinced there were no more ‘beadlets,’ we went back into the choir room.

I grabbed the combo out of my music locker and began wiping them down. I was trying, unsuccessfully, to get the cover off the phone, when Anissa said, “Did your phone get wet?” I said yes. She grabbed it out of my hand, since I was obviously a total dolt at getting the Otter Box off of it. Before Mark could even get “She can take anything apart,” out of his mouth, Anissa took it completely apart. Totally…in less than 5 seconds. It was amazing. I took it back and was trying to figure out how it all fit back together when Anissa said, “DON’T PUT IT BACK TOGETHER.” That’s exactly what I was trying to do. She made sure I was to get home and put it in rice overnight and not even try to use it till it was buried in rice overnight. I assured her that was exACTly what I would do.

At that point, I decided I should go check on the throne room and see if I needed to mop up any water that may have missed the drain in the floor that was obviously not draining and in need of as much repair as the offending depository. And, as is just my good fortune, I walked into the men’s room to find Pastor David Richards, our beloved choir director, grabbing paper towels out of the dispenser by the hands full and throwing them in pools of water all over the immediate area. He briefly glanced at me and continued his exercise as he said, “I’m afraid someone will slip and break something.” I lowered my head in shame and mental discomfort and said, “I think, well, actually, I’m pretty positive I caused this.” He paused and shot his eyes in my direction for the slightest moment, just long enough to mutter, “Why am I not surprised?