I always find first posts a little bit awkward. Shall I share silly facts? I have my grandfather’s nose. I aspire to be a citrus expert someday. I am single. Do I tell you exactly why I started this blog and what I hope becomes of it? Truthfully, I started this blog because I was going a little bit insane; I hope it becomes something more than this post. How about I just share a story, yes? Yes.
It had been a long day-the memorial service, catching up with old friends, a wal-mart run for Bud Lime*, consumption of chicken salad sandwiches**, a few rounds of cornhole. Oh, then there was a stop at the bar with peanut shells on the floor, followed by the one with the punk band and dirty bathrooms. I was playing designated driver and our last destination of the night was an Irish bar. An Irish bar that played country music with a pregnant waitress who was passing out tequila shots to my friends and our late friend’s brother and company. Hello, Indiana.
It was a ticking time bomb, emotions at an all time high and a Dixie Chicks song in the background. 3, 2, 1…Boom. My friend, an emotionally strong girl, let’s call her T, bolted to the bathroom crying and I immediately followed her. I had no idea what to do once I opened the door, but it’s not like I had much choice, I started crying the second I stepped into the fluorescent lights and the door swung behind me. We shared worries and attempted to soothe the pain with the medicine of truth – “she loved you and she knew you loved her.” In between the tears and drunken mumbled words, I said the words every good Christian kid says every time they’re crying in a bar bathroom with friends.
“Can I pray for you?” Ha.
She nodded and I started talking to God as we rocked back and forth in sobs.
“Dear God, I thank you for T…” Midsentence I was interrupted by a noise, but I kept going.
“And you know, you see, you feel how much our hearts hurt right now…”
I heard the unrecognizable noise again.
I made my confused face and looked around the bathroom. Nothing. I was somewhat expecting a ghost story in the making.
I closed my eyes, rubbed my friend’s back and continued. “God, I just ask that you comfort us…”
And I heard it again. And again. “Ok, seriously…what in the world?”
We spun around in confusion, trying to figure out where that noise came from and our snot sniffles turned into audible laughter. Hanging from the dispenser was a strip of paper towel, long enough to graze the ground. The noise was the stinkin motion sensor paper towel dispenser that T was standing in front of. Our rocking back and forth + motion sensor paper towel dispenser = the dispenser dispensing paper towels.
We scooted over towards the non motion sensor sink and right as I was going to attempt to say something deep and profound, the door swung wide open and our late friend’s older brother barged into the women’s bathroom telling us to stop crying.
Classic. We laughed until the conversation returned to its solemn state and the staff told us it was closing time. Those details I don’t quite remember, which always leads to an awkward ending to the story. What happened next? I didn’t finish my prayer, so no big spiritual bow to wrap it up with. We returned to the reality of heavy hearts and confusion. But that little bit of hilarity, that comic relief from an overwhelming grief, that ridiculous moment that most people probably don’t remember or would have missed…that is my favorite story from the 30 hours I was in Indiana.
*seriously….a foreshadowing of the night.
**a funeral reception isn’t a funeral reception unless there’s chicken salad sandwiches.