Necessity is sometimes the mother of embarrassment. I was on lunch break during a colporteuring blitz and I stopped by a McDonald's to visit the restroom. To my dismay, I discovered an "Out of Order" sign on the men's room. Beneath the bold words were the following lines: "You can use the ladies' room." Oh joy. I went and locked myself into the ladies' room. As I was washing my hands, the thing I was dreading happened.
Somebody started yanking on the locked door handle. Because the men's restroom was further down the hall, the people that would normally use the ladies' restroom would never see the "Out of Order" sign. What was this lady going to think when I unbarred the door and sauntered out? There was no escape. I flipped the latch and came out with a sheepish look on my face. Her relieved expression turned to one of mild horror.
"The men's room was out of order," I hurriedly explained.
The face once again showed relief. I quickly exited the building, trying to leave the annoying experience back with all the trans fat and other unhealthful things in McDonald's. So much for waiting for lunch break to go.
Somebody started yanking on the locked door handle. Because the men's restroom was further down the hall, the people that would normally use the ladies' restroom would never see the "Out of Order" sign. What was this lady going to think when I unbarred the door and sauntered out? There was no escape. I flipped the latch and came out with a sheepish look on my face. Her relieved expression turned to one of mild horror.
"The men's room was out of order," I hurriedly explained.
The face once again showed relief. I quickly exited the building, trying to leave the annoying experience back with all the trans fat and other unhealthful things in McDonald's. So much for waiting for lunch break to go.
