Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now

A little Brazoria County anecdote that that makes a nice segue from "Radio Golf..."

When I was still a Texan, our community theatre put on a production of August Wilson's "The Piano Lesson." I adored the show, but since there were obviously no parts for me to play, I volunteered to be its stage manager.

The production, staged in the round, was pretty fabulous, if I do say so myself. One night, however, we noticed on the monitors that one audience member wandered out the wrong exit in the middle of the performance.

Kenny, the uber-hot guy who worked maintenance at the arts center, a cyclist with an absolutely fantastic body -- er, what was I talking about? Anyway, Kenny went back to check on her and saw her squatting in the corner. He asked her if she was all right, and she stood and said, "I am now," and returned to her seat. It was then he noticed the puddle.

Yes, the woman had urinated in the corner. Apparently, she had gone to look for the bathroom, gotten confused in the pitch-black backstage area and couldn't wait any longer. And we're not talking about a blue-hair matinee-goer, either. This was a woman in her 40s at most. And the kicker? She returned to her seat and watched the rest of the show as if nothing had happened.

Fortunately, urine-mopping didn't fall under my stage managerial duties. Poor Kenny. But -- and I can't remember if this was an apocryphal part of the story or not -- he got his reward. At the season's end, the co-directors presented him with a T-shirt that had the letters "iano" blacked out. Lesson learned.