This Blog is About the Bathroom.

Tonight, I had to go to the bathroom. My friends and I were watching a movie, Donnie Darko, and it was after visitation hours, so we were sitting outside trying to shield ourselves from the elements, aka the ever sprinkling sprinklers and the newly arriving cold. But, I simply had to go.
So, I got someone to let me into a dorm building so that I could go to the basement restroom and relieve myself. I walk down a flight of stairs and search the basement, with the constant fear of that creepy bunny Frank from Donnie Darko popping up around each corner. No bathroom.
Luckily, there's a creepy tunnel passage to a place with a bathroom. A long creepy tunnel passage that seems to extend with the ever growing urgent urging of my bladder.
Finally, after what seems like a mile's fidgeting awkward dance to the bathroom, I push open the stall door to find..
No TP.
Maybe in the handicapped stall?
Nope.

At this point in the story, the main character is at a crossroads. She is really in a Catch-22. There is no way to tell her bladder no, and yet there is no way to get to an appropriate toilet in time. Please bear this in mind as you take in the next bit of the story.

Well, after much deliberation that took place in the accelerated but convoluted state of reason that is imminent urine mind, I came to the relatively reasonable conclusion to use the men's restroom. I'm in the basement, so who's gonna come in here, right?
Well, as I am making use of the gentlemen's facilities, I hear the honking creak of a door desperately in need of WD-40.
creeeeeonkeeeeeonkeeeek.
ziiiiiiiiiiiiip.
ziiiiiiiiiiiiiip.
tinkletinkle.
tinkletinkle.
"So, how's it going, man?"
"Doing alright, how are you?"
"I'm good. And, man in the stall, how are you?"
Silence.
"He must be sick or something... Man in the stall, you doing alright?"
Silence.
Silence.
With the realization that these guys are not going to leave until they've smoked me out, "There was no toilet paper in the women's bathroom, okay? I had no choice!"
Stifled laughter.
"Hey, that's alright. I use the girls bathroom ALL the time."
Me, silent, waiting for the sound of zipping to ensure my safety from the view of any undesired images.
Finally, ziiiiiiiiiip.
ziiiiiiiiip.
And they were gone.
And then came the awful walk of shame past the bathroom boys and back to Donnie Darko with color rising in my cheeks every minute.

Thank you, bathroom boys. Thank you.