A Fugitive in the Closet
“What the hell is up with me and closets?”
As I sat down on the floor of a bedroom closet, hiding behind an assortment of hanging jackets, blouses, and pants, I couldn’t help but ask myself that question. In the drunken paranoia of “being discovered” in a fellow chick friend’s bedroom, her closet’s ample hiding space seemed to be the perfect location to hideaway until certain “undesirables” went away, or at the very least, fell asleep. While the question of why I was hiding in the first place will be a topic saved for another blog, nonetheless, I found myself thinking about some of the many desperate evasions I’ve had in the past few years that involved closets, especially during my tenure as a college student. That “trusty ‘ol closet” has been a wonderful ally during the course of my years, aiding in operations such as spying on sexual acquaintances, evading SU Public Safety during liquor raids, and even providing an alternative to a mattress bed. (Man, prop some shoes and some clothes just the right way, and you got yourself the ultimate bed) I’m sure everyone has a “closet story” to tell, and if you don’t, then well, you’re lying. We all learned at a very early age that when you’re playing “Hide and Seek,” the best place to hide in was the closet, so it’s only natural that when you grow older, the first thing that crosses in your mind if you’re ever caught in a bind was to run into the nearest one and stay as quiet as possible...
...Well, at least that’s the way I learned it...
While I was sitting on that closet floor that night, I thought of two specific closet “incidents” that happened during my college years. Even during my drunken state at the time, I laughed at the sheer lunacy and ridiculousness of each incident. I could only thank the stars that the two incidents in question both took place during my formulative freshman year...
The first one that popped up in my mind was this one time that I was forced to hide in a closet when, after running to Michelle’s dorm room to get away from a particular acquaintance who caught feelings for me, the girl in question actually cornered me by paying Michele a surprise visit. In utter desperation to not be discovered, Michelle and I came up with the bright idea of hiding in her roommate’s closet on the other side of the room and waiting until the girl left so I could make my escape. Instead, however, things turned bad when this girl came in and decided that she wanted to spill her guts out to Michelle about her feelings towards me. While the information was good to know, the journalist aspect of me knew that it was completely unethical for me to be listening to this girl spill her guts out about what she thought was in full confidence to Michelle. Yet, there was no way I was going to move at that point; I was stuck, hoping that Michelle would say just the right things to get this girl to go away. Through the door, I heard Michelle try, in vain, to get this girl to leave the room and to keep from revealing any more information to my ears. Minutes passed, and I began to grow weary of standing on one foot, trying to balance and keep from falling in her roommate’s shoebox-filled closet. At one point, after more than 20 minutes, I couldn’t hold on anymore and I fell on top of a stack of shoeboxes. There was no masking the noise. Immediately, the girl demanded to know what that sound was, and thankfully, Michelle said something to the effect of “oh, that was probably my neighbors.” With desperation setting in, Michelle was finally able to convince this girl to leave with her to go somewhere outside the room, allowing me to get out the packed closet and make my way home. I couldn’t get out of that closet fast enough; 30 minutes of standing on one foot will do that to you.
Another time, one day, I randomly woke up inside of my own closet. During finals time of my second semester of freshman year, I remember being burnt out from dealing with the utter blast of school work, so it was completely possible that I was going bonkers at that point. But to this day, I will never know just exactly what drove me bonkers enough for me to wake up, with pajamas on, no less, in my own closet, complete with my bed comforter and my pillow. After dealing with the initial shock of waking up in such a weird place, I asked around to find out what I had done the night before. I feared that I took one of those “date rape” drugs or something by accident, but all accounts pointed to the fact that I was home doing absolutely nothing but schoolwork. Three years later, I cannot tell you what happened that night. That is the only night in my life where I can’t remember exactly what I did the night before. I made it a personal joke that Chiyo, who I had just met only a few days prior to the incident, had drugged me and put me in the closet, but, there’s no truth to that joke. Then again, since I don’t remember, how would I ever know? “The Day that I Woke Up in My Closet” will forever remain one of my life’s mysteries for its sheer randomness as well as its obscurity. I mean, c’mon, who the hell wakes up in their own closet with their pajamas on, as well as a blanket and pillow?
...I glanced at my watch, taking note of how much time had passed since the “undesirables” had walked into my friend’s house. All I could do was simply shake my head at just how much time I spent during the course of my life within a literal closet. And just when I was getting ready to say to myself that these kinds of things only happen to me, my friend opened up the closet door and decided to keep me company during the time being. I couldn’t help but laugh and smile...
She was the one that tripped and fell on boxes this time around. :-)
As I sat down on the floor of a bedroom closet, hiding behind an assortment of hanging jackets, blouses, and pants, I couldn’t help but ask myself that question. In the drunken paranoia of “being discovered” in a fellow chick friend’s bedroom, her closet’s ample hiding space seemed to be the perfect location to hideaway until certain “undesirables” went away, or at the very least, fell asleep. While the question of why I was hiding in the first place will be a topic saved for another blog, nonetheless, I found myself thinking about some of the many desperate evasions I’ve had in the past few years that involved closets, especially during my tenure as a college student. That “trusty ‘ol closet” has been a wonderful ally during the course of my years, aiding in operations such as spying on sexual acquaintances, evading SU Public Safety during liquor raids, and even providing an alternative to a mattress bed. (Man, prop some shoes and some clothes just the right way, and you got yourself the ultimate bed) I’m sure everyone has a “closet story” to tell, and if you don’t, then well, you’re lying. We all learned at a very early age that when you’re playing “Hide and Seek,” the best place to hide in was the closet, so it’s only natural that when you grow older, the first thing that crosses in your mind if you’re ever caught in a bind was to run into the nearest one and stay as quiet as possible...
...Well, at least that’s the way I learned it...
While I was sitting on that closet floor that night, I thought of two specific closet “incidents” that happened during my college years. Even during my drunken state at the time, I laughed at the sheer lunacy and ridiculousness of each incident. I could only thank the stars that the two incidents in question both took place during my formulative freshman year...
The first one that popped up in my mind was this one time that I was forced to hide in a closet when, after running to Michelle’s dorm room to get away from a particular acquaintance who caught feelings for me, the girl in question actually cornered me by paying Michele a surprise visit. In utter desperation to not be discovered, Michelle and I came up with the bright idea of hiding in her roommate’s closet on the other side of the room and waiting until the girl left so I could make my escape. Instead, however, things turned bad when this girl came in and decided that she wanted to spill her guts out to Michelle about her feelings towards me. While the information was good to know, the journalist aspect of me knew that it was completely unethical for me to be listening to this girl spill her guts out about what she thought was in full confidence to Michelle. Yet, there was no way I was going to move at that point; I was stuck, hoping that Michelle would say just the right things to get this girl to go away. Through the door, I heard Michelle try, in vain, to get this girl to leave the room and to keep from revealing any more information to my ears. Minutes passed, and I began to grow weary of standing on one foot, trying to balance and keep from falling in her roommate’s shoebox-filled closet. At one point, after more than 20 minutes, I couldn’t hold on anymore and I fell on top of a stack of shoeboxes. There was no masking the noise. Immediately, the girl demanded to know what that sound was, and thankfully, Michelle said something to the effect of “oh, that was probably my neighbors.” With desperation setting in, Michelle was finally able to convince this girl to leave with her to go somewhere outside the room, allowing me to get out the packed closet and make my way home. I couldn’t get out of that closet fast enough; 30 minutes of standing on one foot will do that to you.
Another time, one day, I randomly woke up inside of my own closet. During finals time of my second semester of freshman year, I remember being burnt out from dealing with the utter blast of school work, so it was completely possible that I was going bonkers at that point. But to this day, I will never know just exactly what drove me bonkers enough for me to wake up, with pajamas on, no less, in my own closet, complete with my bed comforter and my pillow. After dealing with the initial shock of waking up in such a weird place, I asked around to find out what I had done the night before. I feared that I took one of those “date rape” drugs or something by accident, but all accounts pointed to the fact that I was home doing absolutely nothing but schoolwork. Three years later, I cannot tell you what happened that night. That is the only night in my life where I can’t remember exactly what I did the night before. I made it a personal joke that Chiyo, who I had just met only a few days prior to the incident, had drugged me and put me in the closet, but, there’s no truth to that joke. Then again, since I don’t remember, how would I ever know? “The Day that I Woke Up in My Closet” will forever remain one of my life’s mysteries for its sheer randomness as well as its obscurity. I mean, c’mon, who the hell wakes up in their own closet with their pajamas on, as well as a blanket and pillow?
...I glanced at my watch, taking note of how much time had passed since the “undesirables” had walked into my friend’s house. All I could do was simply shake my head at just how much time I spent during the course of my life within a literal closet. And just when I was getting ready to say to myself that these kinds of things only happen to me, my friend opened up the closet door and decided to keep me company during the time being. I couldn’t help but laugh and smile...
She was the one that tripped and fell on boxes this time around. :-)
posted by djkibblesnbits at 9:43 PM
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2 Comments:
ray, you give the saying "skeletons in his closet" a whole new meaning, lol. -Anna
One of these days remind me to tell you about my adventures "in the closet," I even spent some time in a shower stall once . . . but that's another story.
L.
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