Bathroom Run

I was going to write about this right after it happened, but I forgot.  Whenever I have something noteworthy, I seem to forget.  But Yipit is doing a contest and looking for "photos of you using Yipit deals".  And while I don't have a photo of this event, I was reminded of the story.

I purchased two tickets for Matt and I to go to an improv show in Phoenix through Yipit.  So date night comes around and we decide to use them.  We went to an improv show in Mesa earlier this year that was stellar.  This was a different theater with more showings and multiple improv groups coming and going so we expected a pretty large facility.  (Compared to the other improv place which was a room, walls all painted black, and seating for maybe 60 people.)

So we went out to dinner.  But there was an issue with our dessert and it took forever and we ended up having to take it to go to get out of there and make it to our improv show.  And then, though I had been given directions on the phone, we drove back and forth on the street where the improv theater was supposed to be four times, before we found it.

By the time we park, it's past showtime.  And Matt informs me he needs to use the restroom.  Which is fine, because I could go too.  But more than that... Matt needs to use the restroom.  So we slip inside, greet the girl waiting by the door, and ask where the restroom is.  She points forward down the hallway that's right in front of us.  So we head down toward the restroom.  And discover the hallway is "backstage".

Meaning... la di da di di... walking down hallway, doorway to the left... ah!  ah!  those are the performers and that's the stage right there!  right there on our left!  Hurry, hurry!  Don't let anybody see us!  So I'm pressing myself against the far wall and we're sliding past as quickly as we can, shooting silent looks at one another that scream our discomfort.  Immediately after "stage left" is another door on the left:  the bathroom.  And Matt's fumbling with the door and I'm pushing myself into the bathroom right behind him.

So we get inside, giggling in discomfort, whispering about our situation.  The bathroom shares a wall with the stage.  The stage is only occupied by improv performers and, therefore, is sometimes silent.  And Matt needs to go to the bathroom.  So he's apologizing, but he just had to claim the toilet.  And as the smell begins to build, I contemplate pulling a Melissa McCarthy and using the sink (probably would NEVER do this) and Matt tells me to go ahead, but I point out how completely not structurally sound the sink is.  (Because all you need to do is break a sink off a wall in an improv theater behind the stage where the performers are performing.)

So he's done.  And we're too scared to flush the toilet so I quickly go and we wait for a round of laughter to flush the toilet.  And while shushing each other we squeeze ourselves out of the bathroom and push ourselves against the wall, sliding by the ensuing performance.  We make our way back to the front and enter the improv show late.  And it's a tiny room, all painted black, with seating for maybe 30 people.  And as we watch the remainder of the performance, I can't help but wonder if the actors are smelling anything.

(Forgive my verb tense changes--I don't want to go back and fix anything.)