COFFIN SHOES. That’s what Rita (my dear friend and co-worker) calls those troublesome monstrosities that nearly gave my husband a stroke on the morning of his brother’s wedding.
To get a little ahead of myself here: Days after this whole Albany fiasco, I’m telling her the whole story.
She sits back and states simply: “Coffin Shoes.”
Me: “What?” But even before she explains, it sounds right to me.
Rita: “Coffin shoes. They bury people in ‘em. Well, they USED to bury them in ‘em, anyhow. In the old days. Nowadays I guess most people go with the half-closed casket...”
Me: “Really! COFFIN SHOES!”
Rita: “Yeah. They’re not meant to be WALKED IN of course, so the soles aren’t real. They’re just for show. You know. Before they slam the lid...”
We’ll never know for certain what the deal was with those ungodly shoes. But again, Coffin Shoes sounds about right.
* * * * * * * * *
Anyhow - YES - true to my deepest womanly intuition, there is indeed a PAYLESS Shoe Emporium back near the thruway. After a gut-wrenching drive, the first thing I see as we approach a big shopping center is the familiar yellow and orange PAYLESS sign glimmering in the sunlight’s glare. Surreal, it practically shimmers, made wavy from the heat rising off the asphalt.
Chris is in and out of that PAYLESS like a whippet. It’s undoubtedly the speediest shoe purchase on record in the entire history of the human race. He gallops triumphantly back to the car already wearing his new shoes which are slightly loafer-ish but BLACK and perfectly adequate under these dire circumstances.
According to our calculations, we have less than one minute to get to the church. While we know there’s no chance in hell we’d ever make it, this does not stop Chris from trying. The resulting ride is the most harrowing yet, with the added charm of the fact that my bladder is now bursting. And why not? I’ve sucked down about 15 gallons of water over the past several hours. Every stop, bump and turn is a dagger piercing my groin.
Now, I’m a Forest Park Gal. I ran with a hardcore partying crowd from way back. Shorthand for this: I can pee just about anyplace and do so quite skillfully and undetected. But alas! Apparently, I cannot flaunt this particular talent while in Albany. I had thought that once we got to the mall parking lot, bingo - piece o’ cake. Million possibilities. Hell, whiz right outside the car door if need be…
No, nope and nuh-uh. This parking lot is CRAWLING. Not one instant passes when there aren’t 9 or 10 jackasses leisurely strolling by from every possible direction. I can’t believe it, but I never get my opportunity. Then Chris returns like lightening wearing his new, normal shoes and we’re back on the road.
* * * * *
This church is pretty gigantic, and there are no parking spots anywhere in sight. Chris literally flings himself out of the car while it’s still moving, leaving me to my own private hell. Which strangely enough is a small relief. Let the wedding party have a go at him now. My work with him is - for the moment - done. Now my only priority is finding a way to relieve myself without soaking the entire lower portion of my ensemble.
I circle and circle the church in search of both a parking spot AND a pissing spot – I’ll take either, preferably the latter. But no – I find a parking spot first – one opens up directly across the street from the church. There are about fifty gazillion people milling around, so there’s no way I can even think about attempting a car-side whiz.
I think: There’s GOT to be a restroom inside the church itself. You can make it. Just a little longer, you can make it…
I park the car, grab my walking stick (because my bad ankle is now ON FIRE), and lurch up the church stairs, into the lobby. The organist is noodling. Pews are full and steadily filling, much like my bladder. I don’t see Chris, but then it’s not really him I’m looking for.
A pious-looking woman strides near me and I quickly ask her: “Excuse me. Where can I find a ladies room?”
She raises an eyebrow slightly then says: “You’d have to go to the basement. Thru FATHER’S CHAMBERS.” She points. My eyes follow her pointing finger. FATHER’S CHAMBERS appears to be thru a doorway, just next to the altar at the front of the church. About sixty million miles away.
My own voice sounds far away, muttering sickly: “Okay. Thank you.”
I lurch on along the far left-hand side of the church, my eyes glued to the wall and the pictures of THE STATIONS OF THE CROSS. I feel just like Jesus Christ. At this moment, I AM Jesus Christ. I can feel many eyes on me as I make my way: Where does that woman think she is going? Goodness. WHO is she and WHY is she invading FATHER’S CHAMBERS…”
I make it up to that altar pretty quick, amazing myself. Let’s hear it for “Feats of Needs-to-Urinate-Strength”! I burst thru a linen, curtainy-thing right into FATHER’S CHAMBERS. Father is not in right now, but the groom’s teenage son is.
Me: “Hey, _ _ _ _! Don’t you look nice!”
Sonny (Smiling): “Lynn! What’re you doing in here?”
Me: “Uhhh. You cannot believe what I have just been thru. I need the bathroom.”
Sonny (Looks concerned): “It’s all the way down these stairs…” he motions with his chin to the corner of the room where I can see the beginning of a spiral staircase, “Please be careful, Lynn.”
I walk over to the staircase and look down at what appears to be 2 full flights of nonstop, rickety, narrow Hades. For one brief, dizzying moment, I consider dropping trough and pissing right on the floor – yes – right here in FATHER’S CHAMBERS. Now wouldn’t THAT be something!
But no. I resolutely begin my descent. It is endless. At the bottom of the staircase, I glance quickly around. One phrase resonates in my mind: CHURCH DUNGEON. Ultimately, I am victorious with nary a leak nor a drip to betray me. I can hear the intro music kicking in upstairs. Up, up, UP…I go.
Back in FATHER’S CHAMBERS and it’s gotten a little busier in here! Not only is my nephew still in attendance, but FATHER is here, along with the groom. Just me and THE BOYS!
Chris was right – this priest IS scary! He is frowning at me in such a state of consternation that I can’t even begin to think of what in hell there is to say right now. So I just say: “Hiya! You guys all look great!”
The Groom (Big grin): “Hi, Lynn! How are ya?”
Me: “I’m good!” We stand there facing each other, both smiling vapidly, “Ok, well you’re all busy here…so…GOOD LUCK out there WITH THE BIG SHOW!”
YES – I ACTUALLY SAY THESE WORDS, with FATHER looking on. VER BATIM: GOOD LUCK OUT THERE WITH THE BIG SHOW.
As I flee FATHER’S CHAMBER’S, I hear my nephew burst out laughing.
ON WITH THE SHOW!
TO BE CONTINUED...
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