Note: I have already written this entire post before. But when my blog temporarily ceased to exist, the public nudity incident post was one of the casualties. I don’t know what happened to it exactly, but it no longer exists anywhere I can find. So I’m re-writing this story again! Apologies to anyone who’s already read the first version.
By way of explanation
The Public Nudity Incident has been my go-to party story for years now. As you can imagine, there are few better ways to break the ice than with your most embarrassing story. But also, I get tired. It’s a long one. So for the second time now (see above) I’m writing it down for good. (And this time, backing it up in a more secure location afterwards.)
A Little Context as an Appetizer
Okay, so first things first: this story happened to me when I was 16 years old. It also happened in Iceland, which was one of those trips where the public nudity incident was kind of just a “this might as well happen” cherry on top of a cascade of incidents that had plagued me throughout. (Despite that, it remains one of my favorite trips of all time.)
This story takes place in the year 2021, just barely post pandemic. So while tourism was kicking back up as the pandemic wound down, you were still required to show your vaccination card to fly in and out of the country. Naturally, I lost mine. (Putting me under scrutiny of the Icelandic TSA and also government. Fun stuff!)
The other important thing to remember as this vivid story unfolds beneath you is that I was wildly sick this whole time. The day prior to the incident I had thrown up no less than three times. It certainly wasn’t covid, at least. Not that I could prove it, since my vaccination card had gone MIA.
Alright. I think you have enough context: on to the story proper.
Moments Before Disaster…
Our story begins at the Blue Lagoon in Iceland, a collection of bright blue hot springs. The venue is found behind a large, ultra-modern building with soaring floor-to-ceiling windows. There are little snack shops scattered across the pools, where you can order drinks to sip as you float around in the waist-high water. Before you enter, they give you a wristband that is electronically linked to a locker that you put your clothes in. Then you’re free to go enjoy!
Snowflakes drifted down from the fuzzy grey sky, and I was having a wonderful time. The steam had cleared up my congestion somewhat, I had an Icelandic coke, and had almost worked up the courage to try one of the face masks they offered. (I didn’t, because the slimy texture of the washed-off face masks already coated the bottom of the pools in some areas, and it made my skin crawl.)
But after several lazy hours of people-watching Instagram models and dutifully holding in my pee, (it was a large coke) I had decided I was done for the day. There was a pool that was halfway inside the building and halfway outside that served as an entrance/exit point, so I splashed out of that and headed to the locker room.
Before I could go get dressed, I had to shower off completely. They were adamant about that rule: take off your swimsuit, get fully showered off, then get dressed. Fine by me; I’ve had my fair share of locker room experiences. This wasn’t public nudity, after all.
Here is where things started going downhill. You see, the rest of my family was, to my knowledge, still out in the lagoon. So I was mostly alone in the big communal shower room. The problem was, my swimsuit is legally classified as an escape room, because it has this high-up clasp that hooks into itself in such a weirdly strong way that it’s impossible to undo by yourself. That didn’t stop me from trying, struggling sweaty-faced in the steam with my arms losing all their blood, while I fiddled with what might as well have been a small silver rubik’s cube. Eventually, I resigned myself to asking for help.
The only other person in the shower room at this point was an absolutely massive icelandic woman, who I am pretty sure was the goddess Freyja in disguise. She was jacked beyond belief, covered in tattoos, was easily over six feet tall, wore an expression like she had wrestled Jorgumandr and won, and was also entirely naked. I managed to squeak out “can you help me?” and she wordlessly spun me around and undid the clasp in two seconds flat.
I was now able to wriggle out of my wet swimsuit while Freyja In Disguise strode off into the locker room beyond, no doubt to armor up for Ragnarok.
Now I was naked! Not publicly, mind you, but naked nonetheless. From this point on in the story, I will be naked. Because, as everyone knows, there is nothing harder to put on than a wet swimsuit. I couldn’t clasp it even if I did manage to get it back on.
I went to get a towel. Here is where the second problem starts: the locker room was fresh out of towels. The shelves were bare, the hamper was empty. I was sopping wet and there was nothing I could do about it. That was fine, I thought. I’ll just air-dry and be a little bit soggy in my clothes.
The third problem began shortly after. You see, my locker had ceased to exist. Or at least that’s what it seemed like. I spent a good ten minutes (wet feet slapping on the tiles like a lost baby duck) searching the lockers, and sure enough, mine was nowhere to be found.
I found myself back in the still-empty communal shower room. I was hoping my beloved mother or sister would show up soon and save me. Instead, an employee popped out of the steam like my desperation had willed her into existence. There is something very alarming about a fully-clothed employee emerging from the streams of water and steam like a wraith of the mist, but that may just be par for the course with Iceland. They have wish-granting elves and other mystical creatures around. Maybe Sudden Mist Women were just part of the deal.
“You are lost?” she asked.
I nodded. She scanned my wristband (the one thing I was still wearing) and then clapped her hands together. She then explained to me, rather matter-of-factly, that there were two women’s locker rooms. The one I was in, and the one on the other side of the building, where my clothes were. In my sickness-and-steam-addled brain I had somehow managed to wander into the wrong one entirely.
“I will take you there.”
Well, that was fine by me. She would just take me through whatever secret mist portal or employees door she had emerged from, and soon I would be reunited with my pants.
Not so!
The Public Nudity Incident Has Begun.
She took me by the hand (with a stunning amount of strength I might add) and whisked me right out the door.
The door that led to the pool where guests were getting in and out of the lagoon. The door that led us down a hallway of floor-to-ceiling windows, which have a much less apreciable view when you’re the one on display.
Keep in mind that I am just so incredibly naked this whole time. The hand with the bracelet was being clasped in the fist of Mist Woman, who seemed determined to drag me to my destination whether or not I died of shame on the way. The other hand was holding my sopping wet swimsuit, which was partially slung over my shoulder like a little hobo bindle. I have no towel, no means with which to cover myself, and no say in the sudden kidnapping that was taking place.
She led me past more floor-to-ceiling windows, proudly displaying my nude, sick body to the masses. She led me past the large office rooms where business men were having meetings. I am naked. She led me past a cafe (naked), a gift shop (naked), some bathrooms (naked), more windows (still naked), and through the lobby (naked). It was a crowded day at the Blue Lagoon, and there was not a soul who was spared the sight.
The entire journey took almost five minutes. I spent the first two in a state of absolute shock and panic, rapid-firing off thoughts of this is my nightmare and what is happening right now!? as we walked. But honestly, by the third minute of this bizarre experience, I had coasted right past panic and into a serene sort of dumbfoundedness. There was less shame and more of a feeling of I guess we’re doing this, then.
We finally arrived at the proper locker room, where she dropped me off at the door and then vanished, as Icelandic Mist Women are prone to do.
I went inside, found my family already dressed and waiting, and tearfully reunited with my pants. Never in my life have I been so grateful for clothes, I will tell you that much.
And now for a brief Q+A section that usually gets brought up when I tell this story.
Q: Isn’t nudity very different in Iceland?
A: Yes, it is! That’s probably why Icelandic Mist Woman didn’t see anything wrong with whisking me along on a walk of shame. However: the Blue Lagoon was probably about 90% American tourists. I heard them talking. I saw their faces. It might not have been public nudity to my kidnapper, but to everyone else there? Oh boy.
Q: Why didn’t you try to cover yourself up?
A: With what!?
Q: What did it feel like?
A: Mostly cold. Having a raging fever probably helped somewhat.
The End
I can safely say that I haven’t had a dream about being naked in public since. Silver linings, I guess!
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