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Nudity in front of nuns, a priest held at gunpoint
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I was in a hurry to take a shower and get to a Roseville City Council meeting.

I had gone for a quick bicycle ride in the Lincoln foothills and had just gotten back home.

I laid out my clothes in the back bedroom, undressed, grabbed some under shorts and headed to the adjoining bathroom.

Without thinking, I locked the door. A few minutes later I was toweling off, slipped on my briefs and then went to open the door. It wouldn’t open. I tried to unlock it but no dice. I then remembered my brother was supposed to fix the door lock for my mom. Still it wasn’t a problem because there was a screw driver in the bathroom just in case. I started searching for the screw driver but it was nowhere to be found. I thought briefly about trying to break through the door but that wouldn’t be wise. Besides, the door opened in and not out.

And then I got the brilliant idea. I remembered I didn’t lock the patio door after I brought my bicycle inside. I’d just take the screen off the bathroom window, lower myself down, and go around the house to the patio door.

The back part of the house had a high crawl space since it was an addition to the main house that had a full-size basement. That meant it was a ways down to the ground which happened to have a mature lantana complete with thorns in the flower bed right under the bathroom window next to an Italian cypress.

The window was one of those from the late 1960s with one side fixed and the other that opened with a crank arm. It was just wide enough to lift myself through after stepping up on the toilet seat.

I took off the screen and poked my head out of the window. I looked toward the street because I didn’t want anyone to see me with just under shorts jumping out the window. My mom’s house was built on two lots by the original owner who was a dentist. He had intended to build his office on the other lot but never did so we have a huge side yard.

I looked down at the lantanas and thought it might be wise to go out feet first. That way I could leverage myself with feet against the exterior wall and try to jump clear to the sidewalk. I figured that way I wouldn’t hurt myself in the thorns.

I started to climb out the window. As I was lowering myself down I felt a sudden tug. The back of my briefs had become stuck on the crank arm.

I tried to pull myself back up but the crank arm had snagged the fabric. I tried to put some muscle in it but then my lack of upper body strength showed my limitations. I was now stuck with my underwear on the crank arm and 90 percent of my body outside the window.

In couldn’t go back in. Worse yet, the pulling was giving me a massive wedgy. So after looking at my alternatives, I decided to try my luck at jumping hoping my weight would rip the briefs. I looked around the cypress and saw no one on the street. I was thankful that they hadn’t started arriving for bingo yet at the St. Joseph’s parish hall directly across the street from the side yard.

I went to jump and nothing happened for a few seconds except for the wedgy becoming a mega-wedgy. Finally there was a loud rip. I fell directly in the lantanas and immediately jumped up screaming in pain. As I looked up - I was facing the street - two nuns were walking by.

They were heading to our neighbor Elsie’s house. They looked my way then quickly glanced away and kept going. They acted like nothing was out of the ordinary but then again what would one expect from Methodists?

I probably turned 20 shades of red as I high-tailed it around the corner and to the patio.

As much as I hate to admit it, that wasn’t my most embarrassing moment although it did make the Top 10.

Needless to say I could never explain why I bothered to lock the bathroom door when I knew no one would be home for hours but I didn’t lock the patio door.

On the flip side, it wasn’t nearly as bad as when my mom saw a stranger walking out of Elsie’s backyard and past our kitchen window while pushing a scooter.

Mom called the cops who happened to be a block away.

Within a minute the police had the man spread eagled on the ground at gunpoint in front of our house.

It turned out it was the new parish priest - Father Joe - who had been imprisoned in South Vietnam at a re-education camp by the Communists due to his Catholic faith. He was simply retrieving his scooter that Elsie let him store in her garage because the rectory lacked storage space.

We weren’t Catholics but I guarantee you everyone in Lincoln who was Catholic knew our family for reasons that are more than obvious.