“Saturday Night, I Came out of the Closet” …©2022
It was “The Pavilion Pearls Club” night out.
“Yippee”!
Who are “The Pavilion Pearls” you may ask?
Bright, somewhat chic, mature dames who “found one another”.
It was as if gravity itself pulled us together…out of the 900 tenants in our Manhattan high-rise.
Harriet, I met in our mailroom.
Claire on the street who recognized me from our building’s gym.
Karol, introduced to me via her daughter, also a building resident.
Doris, the newbie, who only moved in, just 15 years ago.
Dee-Dee me, Claire, & Harriet are original tenants that are renting our apts. still 40 years, plus… later.
We are ages 80–94 and we are a frisky bunch.
The ladies and I, meet in The Pavilion’s lobby wearing masks and heavy winter garb.
We waddle in a group to another local restaurant. This constitutes our Saturday Night out. We are as determined as the US Post office…weather will not stop our club’s night.
Fighting the frigid, windy, winter Manhattan evening we are jubilant never-the-less as we enter Mazzola’s Ristorante. This for us, is battle.
I’m in my electric mobility scooter, Doris in tow with her walker, followed by Harriet leaning on her cane, Karol and Claire, arm-in-arm…for support.
Its 6:00 o’clock so early for dinner in Manhattan, but we purposely want to beat the crowd, and because of our group ages, we cannot sleep… if we eat the meal later.
When the owner, spots us arriving, he immediately has the potable ramp put down to accommodate Doris’ walker and my scooter.
Once inside he asked, me, “Senora can you walk?”
When I nod, he said, “Follow me”.
He directs to a rear narrow hallway to park my scooter.
Parked, I retrieve my folding Zorro-like paisley cane from my bag, to hobble to our table.
I was followed by Doris who parked her bulky walker closely behind my scooter.
The girls, (who haven’t been girls for 60 years, LOL!), order wine and dinner.
We talk of current events, children, grandchildren, even 1 great grandchild, and…crime, of course.
Politics are “discussed” but we tread carefully, as we are both conservatives and liberals, at the table.
Then to the one, we shrug our ancient shoulders, agreeing aloud, “All politicians are crooks”!
Our comradery, and the dining room’s ambiance, made our table a cheerful one, (of course, the glasses of wine didn’t hurt either)!
Then as it does lately, nature calls suddenly and sharply… I gotta pee!
“Excuse me I say” as I stiffly rise, “Does anyone know where the Ladies room is?”
Harriet states, with authority as she claims, “I know this place VERY well since I came here many times with my first, then second husband”.
The direction she points to is directly in front of my scooter, with Doris’ walker tightly jammed behind it. They are completely blocking any path in for me to the rest room.
Now I’m desperate… if I don’t wish to wet my pants. Would you believe no help comes to my rescue? How can I move these 2 now locked together metal beasts? Nether one can I dis-lodge nor even move an inch. I’m about to cry when suddenly an arm comes and is pulling me from behind.
It’s an ancient, fragile man who caught my helpless situation. To think this white-haired gentleman could injure himself in aiding me…further concerned me.
Together, with “all our might”, made only the slightest movement of the machines. Finally, we recognize we can’t do it…so then he takes my hand, holds my cane for me, as I proceed to clumsily climb over this blockage to the narrow tunnel leading to toilet closet.
Well, “knock me over with a feather…” the promised toilet is just a narrow, dusty Broom Closet.
Harriet ignorantly sent me to a tiny storage room. I am in a sweat as I must, now call aloud to the gent to help me climb out of the same barricaded space.
I try to save my dignity as I see my predicament is the entertainment for the now crowded restaurant Saturday regulars.
When I see the diners gawking at me, I throw out my arms announce, "That was not bathroom…but a closet”!
And that dear reader is how “I came out of the closet…last Saturday night!
