Now I don’t make women scream that often, but I did the other day at JFK airport. I was heading to Minneapolis after an eight day stretch of shoots and I was exhausted – not to mention full of soy lattes. And anyone who knows me is well aware of my peanut size bladder, so restrooms are always on my mind.
After checking in, I went to buy my required travel magazines – Us and In Touch – and to find a restroom. Unbeknownst to me, someone had obscured the WO on the restroom door, so in my bladder challenged state, I barreled right in.
Well, to put it mildly, all hell broke loose. I was barely in the door when the women started screaming and yelling for security. Now excuse me, but in my lined lips and penciled brows, I have been mistaken for Nicole Richie on more than one occasion, so I don’t see what the fuss was about.
I apologized and exited the restroom only to be greeted by two burly security men. Both men grabbed me as if I were Ted Bundy and ushered me to the security kiosk – and everyone knows that pretend policemen are on major power trips, so I knew I was in trouble. After 20 minutes of explanations and a call to the police station to verify that I was not a sex offender (no snickers from readers of the blog) I was released.
Moral of this story: pissing is apparently serious business, so be sure to look before you leak.