Happy that I wasn't in the usual panic of making it to the bathroom as in past cases, I casually made my way down the hall and around the corner to the bathroom. I was just in time, too, as I felt my belly growl with the familiar pains of a sour stomach.
I put the key in the lock and slowly turned, only to hear, to my utter dismay, the shout of an unfamiliar voice from the other side of the door. "Sorry, it is occupied!"
It was the voice of an elderly man with a British accent, and it gave me the distinct impression that it was going to be a while before he exited. My heart sank, but my bowels sank further, and I was slowly overcome with an old, familiar feeling of pure panic.
Where the hell was I going to go to the bathroom???
I made my way back to the room in short, quick steps, too afraid to widen my stride for fear that my bowels would find a way down my leg. I remembered that my boyfriend had a key to the downstairs bathroom; if only I could recall where he had placed it.
I fumbled for my room key to unlock the door, my palms now sweaty and my breathing labored. Once I was in the room, I began to ravage my surroundings. Bookshelves, drawers, pants pockets, jewelry boxes... all the while my bowels threatening to gush forth like the water at Niagara Falls.
Please, God. Help me.
In that moment, my eye fell upon a key hanging on a nail behind the door. I yanked it from its perch and quickly read the tag. The word "bath" had been neatly etched on its side.
Joy! Utter joy! Nearly unhinging the door, I yanked it open and started a quick jaunt down the hall, down the flight of stairs, around the corner, and through the swinging doors that eventually led me to the downstairs bathroom. I squeezed my butt cheeks and straightened my back as I stood before the door that would eventually bring me great relief.
But before I could even lodge my beloved bathroom key into the lock, I was seized with terror as the sound of running water rose from the other side of the door, immediately followed by the squeaking of the curtain rings as they glided across the iron shower rod, indicating the beginning of someone's shower time.
It is difficult for me to express how I felt or what I was thinking in that moment. It was a mix of so many emotions: anger, disappointment, sadness, and confusion. But the most resounding emotion was fear. I was terrified at the much less desirable choices that I was left with.
I could shit on the floor outside the bathroom. Nope. No way.
I could shit in my pants on my walk back to the room. Nope. Too traumatic.
I could race back to the room, grab a large plastic back, and relieve myself into it. Then I could take said plastic bag and place it in another plastic bag and then another plastic bag and then deposit it in the hotel garbage receptacle.
Yep. That is what I did. I was left with no other choice but to defecate in a plastic bag in my small hotel room, gazing out at the New York sky.
And that, my friends, is how I began my day.