This is a post from my old site, castagnaro.com. A website that Russell and I started when we moved away from Atlanta. Just a way to keep family and friends up to date on what we were up to. What’s interesting is that this was in 1997. Before blogging was popular. Before the term “blogging” was even invented! I posted this on October 1, 1997. Fifteen years ago.
Later That Night…
Before we begin, have you read my story about getting trapped in the airplane bathroom? If not, you really should. You see, that little adventure took place a mere 3 1/2 hours before the bizarre episode I’m about to describe to you. Put together, these stories make for one crazy night!
So, as you know, I was trapped in the airplane bathroom for what seemed like hours but was only 8 minutes. As soon as I was rescued, I ran for my seat and started pounding out the experience on my laptop while enjoying a chocolate sundae. All was well for about an hour until I realized that I had to go to the bathroom again! While my mind told me this couldn’t be. My body told me otherwise. There was NO WAY I was going to go into the restroom again, so I hunkered down and decided to wait until the flight was over. (Two and one half hours later.)
We arrived in Los Angeles at 12:10 a.m. I was one of the first people off the plane and I literally ran down the hallway toward the public restroom. As it was such an odd time of day for travel, this part of the airport was nearly deserted except for a group of men milling outside the Men’s bathroom door. They didn’t interest me and I was about to turn my head away when I noticed a man coming out of the doorway. His face was covered in makeup. A clown was coming out of the bathroom and being met by an entourage of men.
Whatever, I thought. My mind was on the Women’s room; I had business of my own to take care of. As I was turning the corner to enter the Ladies room, a shout came from across the hall.
I froze. I immediately thought of the man with the done up face. I just knew it was the clown and I just knew it was me that he was yelling at. I didn’t move. I didn’t know what to do. I had to pee.
Did he sound friendlier this time? Did I hear chuckling? Slowly, I turned around. The man in the makeup was hunched over laughing. His friends, the milling men I had noticed earlier, were all looking at me with smiles on their faces. A few were snickering, hiding their smiles behind their hands. I was very confused. My gaze returned to the laughing man. He straightened up and looked at me.
“Is that…?” I could only point. The words “Little Richard” refused to leave my mouth. He laughed and said, “Yep.”
Little Richard heard this exchange and turned around to face me again.
“How’re you doin, GIIIIIRRRLLL???” He shouted, louder this time. He was enjoying himself immensely. Laughing, practically crying at his own antics.
Because I am not particularly talented at handling surprise situations, I couldn’t think of anything clever to say. I just stood numbly in the entrance to the Women’s room and gave a little wave. “Well, hey,” I almost whimpered. Feeling out of sorts and quite baffled, I turned and walked into the bathroom. I could still hear him laughing down the hall.
I stared at myself in the row of mirrors. “Now, what was it I came in here to do anyway?”