A Different Drummer: Pinfest Zinfest combined Part 2

I left this story last week with me in a bathtub in Lodi. I was alone. My back was sore. And I was tipsy. That was when, and likely why, I made another bad decision. My bath water was growing cool. It was time for another blast of hot water.
I could have just turned the spigot, but my joyful condition inspired me to turn on the shower head and let the warm water rain down on me like I was lying in a rainforest. I tried to sit up, but my back was too sore, so I tried to turn on the shower handle with my right foot. The handle was about three feet above me, so I braced my left foot on the soap dish and hoisted my rear end into the air. I reached up with my right foot, just barely able to reach the handle, and gave it a kick. That was my third mistake.
I’d kicked a bit too hard and turned the water to almost maximum hot. Near scalding water rained down on me. Also, with that kick, I wrenched my back again. I was lying there in 20 inches of hot water with hotter water pouring down on me, and I couldn’t move.
“Help,” I whispered weakly. I’m going to either drown or be turned into soup. What should I do? Yell? Call room service? My phone was out of reach. Also I’d left the shower curtain open so water was splashing all over the bathroom floor. I imagined myself lying there overnight, 12 hours until the next afternoon when I’d be rescued by either a surprised cleaning lady, or my less-surprised wife and friends.
Finally, desperate, I fought against the pain and climbed out of the tub like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, clambering over the side and falling prostrate on the wet bathroom floor. I lay there for a moment, then forced myself to stand and shut off the flood. What a mess. Suffering, I sopped up the water using all my towels, then did a Frankenstein walk to the bed where I collapsed.
On my way to the bed, feeling guilty and embarrassed by my stupidity, I stashed the empty Denoginizer bottle in my suitcase and decided to tell no one about this incident. I didn’t want Sue to know I’d downed her favorite bottle of beer, nor did I want them to know anything else.
Sue, Sandy, and Bud arrived at noon Saturday. We met up, I skipped pinball for the day and bought myself a Zinfest ticket. I was still doing the Frankenstein walk and Sue asked, “How’s your back?”
“Worse,” I said. I’d been quiet around them all morning, mostly frowning and wincing. I was feeling somewhat morose for having injured myself being an idiot.
“How could it be worse? What happened?”
Think quick, Steve. “Eh, probably playing pinball. I think I shook the machines too hard.” That story sufficed. All was well. My secret was safe.
ZinFest is a big, big deal, Spread across a snaking peninsula on the Mokelumne River, 40 local wineries poured 200 wines. Live music filled the stage all day. BBQ cooking classes, appetizer cooking classes, and wine education classes filled conference tents around the site. Nearly 4,000 people were whooping it up.
At the end of the day, we drove downtown for dinner on School Street. My scouting had paid off. We found convenient parking and great meals at the Lodi Brewery and the Rosewood Grille. I was feeling better. Things were looking up. My goofy bathtub fiasco was slipping unacknowledged into the recent past.
The four of us piled into our suite and slept the sleep of the dead. Sunday morning we began packing up to go to Tahoe for a few days, That’s when I made my fourth and final mistake. I let Susan repack my suitcase.
“What’s this?” She asked. She held up the empty Denoginizer bottle tucked in with my socks.
“Oh, that,” I said as casually as I could.
“Why didn’t you just throw it in the trash can?”
I tried to think. “Um, I already had two empty cans in the trash. I didn’t want the cleaning lady to think I was a lush.”
Not a good response. All three stopped what they were doing and stared at me. “What?” asked Susan, incredulously. “You have an image to protect? You think they know you here?”
I tried a new line of bull. “Well, I knew it was your favorite beer, and I didn’t want you to know I drank it, so I hid it and was going to buy you a new bottle when we got to Tahoe to replace it.”
“Say what?” said all three at once. Apparently that story wasn’t holding water either.
Finally, I decided what the hell. Time to come clean. I told them the whole sordid story, right down to the fear of soaking in the tub for 12 hours and being rescued by a cleaning lady, the hotel manager, and likely several security guards.
After ten minutes of continuous laughter, teary eyes, tossed back heads, and wailing, things settled down.
“This is why you were a miserable sot all day yesterday? People learn from your mistakes. I think you should write about this episode.”
So there you have it.
Go to Lodi next year. Play pinball. Drink wine. Check out the downtown. Stay away from combining shower handles with bare feet, bad backs, and beer.