Wine for Getting Stuck in an Elevator

Let's just say the day did not start out well. To begin with, it was pouring buckets again; massive sheets of rain that were blown about in the wind. Then, I got in the elevator to go down to our garage, and got stuck in it (the elevator, not the garage). It is one of those old-fashioned elevators with the metal interior door that closes after the outer door does. And this morning I got in, and the outer door closed followed by the inner door and then...nothing. The elevator didn't move. I pushed the button for the garage again. Still nothing. Oh well, I thought, I'll just get out and walk. So I pushed the Door Open button. No dice. The elevator wouldn't move and I couldn't get out. I called the manager who came to try to open the door from the other side, but the outer door won't open as long as the interior metal door is closed, so that didn't work. The manager left to try to call the other manager, and about 5 minutes later, for no apparent reason, the interior door slid open and I could get out.

Once in the car and on my way, I had to deal, once again, with driving rain, terrible visibility, occasional spots of flooded roadway, slow-moving traffic, and the very strong wish that I had not drank so much water before I left the house. This wish became stronger and stronger as I became more and more uncomfortable. Of course, the more I had to pee, the slower the traffic moved, and with about 19 miles to go I began to feel desperate. I wondered if I could manage to pee into my water bottle while driving, but decided that both clothing and anatomy were against me on that one, and more than once I cursed whatever evolutionary fluke led to women having such ill-placed wee-holes.

I did everything I could: I loosened the lap portion of my seatbelt, I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, I tried with all my might to ignore the splish splash plop plop of the rain on the car, and I prayed with all my might that I wouldn't have to sneeze. I wondered why adult diapers are just for old folks. Finally I made it to the parking lot, and tried to figure out how to best make it to the lavatory without losing both my pants and my dignity. Since my bladder was now the size of a small child, there was no way I was going to get my pants zipped up, so, clutching my bag, all my class materials and my pants I tottered toward the door. As anyone who has found themselves in a similar predicament knows, you have to be careful in this final stretch. Move too slowly and you may not make it at all, but run too vigorously and you can jiggle the wee right out. So sort of a medium trot is the best approach. Thankfully, I made it to both the loo and to the classroom without further incident, though I was late of course, and discovered that one of my class members had taken my favorite seat. He refused to make eye contact with me, but he knew I was there. Oh yes, he knew.

That was how the day started, and it continued with day two of France. Loire Valley to be precise. Loire Valley whites to be even more precise. The reds have a whole day to themselves tomorrow. Frickin' France. It is confusing in so many ways I don't even know where to begin. There are so many wine regions, varietals, producers, and different classifications for French wine it is hard to know where to begin. To make matters worse, each wine region will have completely different classifications for their specific wines. And even wines which are from the same region and are of the same varietal will taste completely different. How are we supposed to be able, in a blind tasting, to tell a Sauvignon Blanc from France from one from California, New Zealand or Australia when two Sauvignon Blancs from France don't even taste anything alike?! What makes me even crazier with most of the "old world" wines is that the labels are "place" labels as opposed to "varietal" labels, so a bottle from France might say "Chateau LaPoop" on it, but does not say if the wine inside is Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, or Chenin Blanc. So how do you know? Well you just have to hold the bottle up to your forehead and let the wine speak to you. Or you have to google it. Or you have to just suck it up and learn which varietals correspond with which region. Guess which option we're supposed to choose?

I know I usually recommend a wine but honestly, we tasted nine wines today and I can't even begin to separate them in my head. So I'm afraid you might have to wait until tomorrow for a good Loire wine suggestion. I tend to enjoy reds more anyway. Maybe I'll make it up to you and suggest two. In any event, I suppose it's better not to drink wine when stuck in an elevator; best to keep that bladder nice and empty.

Until tomorrow...