Last summer I went to an outdoor They Might Be Giants concert in Prospect Park, Brooklyn. Near the end of the concert, the beers I had drunk had caught up with my urinary tract, and I had to pee badly. I rushed to the only bathroom in the area and got in the long and curving line (the men's line wasn't long at all).

After about 20 minutes of standing in line, I finally got a free stall. I did my business and went to leave when the most dreaded thing happened -- the door wouldn't open.

The locking mechanism was definitely broken and try as I might, I simply couldn't get the door to open. I tried yelling for help, but my stall was near the end and there was a lot of noise from all the frequent flushing and opening and closing of stalls. I tried waving a frantic hand above the door, but I figured that wouldn't get me anywhere either.

So I did the only thing a person COULD do in that situation -- I ignored the filthy floor, ridden with used pads and pee splatter drops, and got down on my back and pulled myself under the stall door.

It was nice to be out, but people were staring at me and I was disgusted by the plethora of germs that surely were clinging to my butt and back. I quickly left that frightening situation only to be confronted by an unsupportive boyfriend who squealed like a girl whenever I got close to him.

-- Jenny [1]