EMERGENCIES

Emergencies are almost defined by their unexpected arrival. There are degrees, of course. I've never had a life-threatening one. I'm greatful for that. Mine tend to be more of the mini-emergency types. There seems to be some kind of scale by which hidden forces allocate the punishment to the undeserving as well as the deserving. Those who don't get thrown onto the operating table are likely to have to pay for their escape by a multitude of little, annoying emergencies. I am such a one.

I often blame GRAVITY for many of my accidents and for my generally klutzy demonstrations. For me this is not merely a scientific phenomenon. No, it borders on some kind of evil force out there. It singles people out to torment, often with a plethora of fumbles and droppings, which draw attention to the victim, as in: "What's his problem?" or "Clown!" [Now, that's getting personal.]

This evening, I was at my tiny office in Fairfax, VA. The property owner, Dino, has allowed the men's room on my floor to go for about two weeks "out of commission." This means that I have to go to the next higher or lower floor to reach a functioning restroom. I welcome the challenge of going up the steps and gaining a little exercise in the bargain.

However, tonight my sense of well-being was disturbed. As is often my fashion when I'm unrushed, I had taken a section of newspaper (in this case The Washington Post) with me, hoping to find an article about me in the Style section (a frequent spot for "hate crimes" to appear). [Ok, so I gave them some questionable advice; that's no reason to become anti-entertainer.]

My business was a serious one. I entered the cubbyhole, where the throne beckoned. I assumed the position of authority, which the occasion warranted. Naturally, I opened the newspaper section and began to scan for something interesting to read. Nothing! Even the advertisements were witless. Disgruntled, my sojourn ready to be terminated, I reached for the mysteriously contrived chamber wherein two rolls of paper usually are to be expected. Nothing! My fingers traced the entire interior of the housing, but they found nothing. What to do? I mused a bit angrily, my fingers tightening their grip on the newspaper. NEWSPAPER. I had brought along a solution to this emergency without premeditation. Another invisible hand had trumped the bringer of bad news (no pun intended). My mini-emergency had clandestinely been "fixed." Parenthetically, I haven't ruled out the existence of "guardian angels."

Incidentally, this is one of the few occasions when GRAVITY may be your friend.

In conclusion a potentially embarrassing situation was overcome, seemingly by a chance decision. I hope that I am wiser from this experience. I know I must live the rest of my life with the watchwords of the Boy Scouts before me: Be Prepared!