I was on summer vacation with my friends to a sleepy hot springs in eastern Japan. (At the risk of stating the obvious, one is naked when in a Japanese hot spring.)
Anyhow, my friends had been badgering me for a while while in the indoor portion of the hot springs to transition to the outdoor portion with them. I told them I would come out in a few minutes. This particular hot springs, being mostly natural, has an uneven gradient -- it has a transition from 1.5 feet deep to six feet deep which is about as abrupt as falling off a cliff. The transition is marked with a log suspended above the water and a warning sign outside the door.
Anyhow, while I was still gathering up my courage to go outside, a little boy splashing along in the two-foot end of the spring approached the gap in the pole that permits access to the deep end and, before anyone could warn him away, vanished.
I only have two coherent memories of what happened next: one, I remember thinking most strongly that I was disregarding the advice in the Boy Scout Manual by entering water to remove a drowning victim and, two, as soon as we broke the surface he spit boiling water in my eye. This made me happy because it meant I didn't have to attempt rescue breathing.
What made me substantially less happy was going from being the gangly white guy in the corner everyone was making a pretense of not staring at to being the gangly white guy in the center of the room who everyone was making absolutely no pretense of not staring at. I handed the child to his father (didn't say anything -- my Japanese totally failed me out of embarassment) and bolted to the corner. Then folks heard the commotion from the lady's side of the springs and came over to see what was happening. I bolted out, got changed, and searched the vicinity for icecream while waiting for my friends to finish their baths.