I did not have “stick my hand in a public toilet” on my Sunday BINGO card, yet, here we are.
I get up Sunday morning excited for service. I have been working from home for the past three weeks and really dreading having to drive into the office on Monday. I was looking forward to church to shift my mind from trepidation into gratitude.
I woke up feeling pretty good. After a year of foot issues and several podiatry appointments, my foot is on the mend. I pull out my marron dress and matching maroon knee-high boots to wear. All suited and booted, I decide to wear my handmade beaded bracelet I had made at a Black Girls Run Indy event. In the center was a silver metal decal with the letters BGR on it. I began to reminisce on the sense of community being a part of this group provided me while I was working in a state in where I knew only two people.
December is the last month of the year; however, December is also the month of Advent. Advent is when Christians celebrate the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah. I am expecting great things as Advent connotes. The sanctuary is decked in Christmas decor. Poinsettias line the base of the stage where the praise and worship group belt out songs that lift my spirit. The preacher is in his bag. I am feeling mighty good by the end of service.
I run to the restroom as I typically do at the end of service. I walk down a side hall to get to the bathroom with the highest water pressure. My hands don’t feel clean after struggling to get the soap off at a low drip faucet like the bathroom near the entrance of the sanctuary.
My bracelet is dangling over my right hand a bit, so I pull it up higher on my arm when – SNAP! The cord breaks. The beads and bobbles tumble down, mostly into the commode. I am literally near tears, because, why!? lol. A woman walks in and I have to explain my dilemma so that she won’t walk into the stall that contains the toilet with my bracelet parts in it.
She is sympathetic and even tries to help me find gloves in the bathroom cabinets. Alas, there are none. I am faced with a real decision. She says what I am dreading.
“You’re just gonna have to stick your hand in there and get them out.”
<Insert> Denzel Washington one tear</>
I fish maroon beads out of the toilet bowl with my bare hands and placed them into a wad of paper towels I had gathered.
The woman exits the stall and I am furiously washing my hands.
I move to allow her to wash hers as another woman is at the only other sink. I plan on washing mine at least two more times. No need to make her wait. She kindly states, “It will be alright.”
She is right. I retrieved my bracelet pieces. I can restring those. What was once broken can be restored. I later met some friends for brunch and didn’t even bring up the bracelet debacle. I really enjoyed my Sunday.