Shit! It’s stuck. No matter how hard I push, the door doesn’t move an inch. “Perfect, it’s not like I had something better to do right now!” I groan, slapping the sturdy barrier between freedom and this smelly prison. I should’ve known there was something suspicious about this toilet since there was no queue. Everyone who’s ever had to pee knows women cannot just stroll into an empty toilet like this, without waiting in line for what seems like an eternity, while squeezing their legs together hoping their bladder doesn’t explode. But I was naive enough to think that this would be the day that I might get lucky.
I will admit, the “out of order” sign that was taped to the door should have been my first warning. And the fact that the toilet was tucked away in a dark corner of the restaurant should have been my second. But I really, really had to go. How was I supposed to know that this toilet only had a doorknob on the outside? Out of order usually means a clogged pipe or a sudden shortage of toilet paper. Not a secret trap from which there is no escape after the door closes behind you.
I take my debit card out of my wallet and wedge it between the door frame and the lock. Not that I have even the slightest clue about how to open a lock with a card, but it always works in the movies. I mean, how hard can it be, right?
I’m scraping the card against the lock like a maniac, but it’s a stubborn one. Completely refuses to work with me. Maybe if I push the card a bit further between the… Oh no. It slips between my fingers and lands on the piece of floor that is located in the free world. Crap! For once it would be nice if fate didn’t bite me in the ass.
My palms are getting sweaty. What if I’m stuck here for the rest of the evening? Or worse, all night? This space I so tiny that I can barely move. I sit down on the closed lid while I try to get my breathing under control by counting slowly to ten. “One… Two… Three… Four…” Oh man, who am I kidding? I’m feeling just as relaxed as a child on Christmas Eve. I really have to get out of here before this panic paralyzes me forever.
“Hello?” I shout. “Is anyone out there?” Of course there is. The restaurant is loaded. But no one can hear my cry for help above the booming sound of chatty people and clanging cutlery.
“Can anybody hear me?” I try again. To reinforce my shouting I start banging on the door, of course to no avail.
I look at my mobile but it just laughs in my face by displaying ‘no service’. Figures! Thanks for picking my side, Universe. It’s almost as if the damn thing is trying to send me a message: ‘do not go on blind dates in restaurants you’ve never been before’. Of course, considering my record it might as well be interpreted as ‘do not leave the house, ever’.
So here I am. Locked in a toilet, my date waiting for me around the corner. Any minute now, he’ll realize that he’s being stood up – even though he isn’t, not really – and he’ll leave. Or maybe it will take him a whole hour to decide what to do. It all depends on his self-esteem I guess. But no matter how long he needs to reach his decision, I’m almost positive that I will not be able to escape before he goes home.