See this story at BrooklynDaily.com.
By Carmine Santa Maria
Brooklyn Daily
I’m madder than a turtle that’s been Krazy-Glued into his shell by a bunch of pesky kids over the fact that I almost spent a night atop my trusty steed Tornado while trapped like a rat in the school yard of IS 96 after my latest successful dance class.
Look, you all know the ol’Screecher has been teaching the samba from atop my scooter for years, and not once have I not been able to get home in time for coffee and cake with my lovely wife Sharon before bedtime until this week, when a triple threat of complications conspired against me — and it took a 911 call to the fire department — to get me home safely!
Let me break it all down for you the only way I know how: in the order in which I think I remember these terrible things happening.
Chapter 1: Access-A-Ride fails again
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Carmine, every time you have a problem, you blame Acess-A-Ride no matter what the problem is. You could forget how to use the remote to the Zenith and blame it.” Well, you’re right. But then how do you explain the fact that the van that was supposed to pick me up at 5:15 pm at the beautiful twin towers of Harway Terrace was stuck on Delancy Street in Manhattan when it was supposed to be at my front door? And how do you explain that the driver said I was a no-show when he got to my house at 7:15! I’m all ears!
Any ways, I rode atop Tornado all the way to the school just to make it to the class on time, and I headed through the school yard to the ramp that gets me into the building. As stated before, my class was another success, with people knowing twice as much about dance than when before we all got there.
I was just about ready to hit the head and head home when problem No. 2 arose.
Chapter 2: Carmine’s bladder vs. Eva Moosekawitz
As always, Mother Nature called before I was getting ready to head home, and I was headed to the men’s room to do my business when I found out that one of Eva Moosekawitz’s new charter school had taken up space in this school, and, to make a long story endless, because of her I couldn’t get into the handicapped bathroom. But I had to go, so I did what any god-fearing American would do — I headed for the handicapped ladies’ room to do what I had to do (and trust me, I hadda do it).
So I announced my presence as only I can do: “Attention! Attention! Man and trusty steed about to enter this women’s room!” I screamed to make sure no one was inside. I then entered the no-mans-land and sang “Ava Maria” at the top of my lungs to make sure no one accidentally discovered me in there.
I headed out the back door and into the school yard to meet my 8:58 Access-A-Ride with 20 minutes to spare. I was dreaming about the coffee and cake that would greet me when I realized 20 minutes would not be enough!
Chapter 3: Trapped!
I opened the door to the school yard, headed onto the ramp, and the door closed and locked behind me. I rolled down the ramp, and made a b-line to the gate I came in through. But when I got there it was locked and I was trapped inside! First, I did what any normal Italian senior frightened for his life would do in a situation like this: I screamed to the high-heavens for my sainted mother to come down from heaven and save me. When that didn’t work, I pulled out my MePhone and called everyone I know to tell them I was trapped in the school yard — not so much that they could help me, but to make sure they were aware of my suffering.
When I finally reached Sharon (who actually picked up) she told me to call 911 to be rescued, as she was sure she didn’t have the key, and she had no plans to go into the basement to get the lock-cutters she was sure I had stored away.
When I reminded her that I hate to call 911 because it reminds me of that horrible day, she told me, “Okay, don’t and freeze to death in the school yard and when the kids get there tomorrow they’ll think you are some disgusting Halloween decoration!”
Well, I certainly didn’t want that to happen, so I got up the nerve and called 911, and within minutes, the FDNY was there to save my life.
Thankfully, they immediately recognized me even with my new goatee (I am, after all, a beloved columnist for a major metropolitan newspaper), and after we shared a laugh or two and I gave out my autograph, they freed me using the jaws of life.
Of course, while all this was happening, I spotted my Access-A-Ride come and go — without me.
By the time I got home Sharon was fast asleep. But she left me a cup of coffee and a box of Entemann’s on the table.
So everything turned out all right!
Screech at you next week!