I do whatever I can to avoid mobile washrooms. Buses, airplanes and trains alike; I firmly believe that if it's an enclosed space with a toilet, it probably shouldn't be hurtling anywhere or, at the very least, it's nowhere I'd like to be. Which isn't to say it doesn't happen.

This spring I found myself stuffed with soup and soda on a packed train bound for southern Ontario. Within an hour it became necessary to use the onboard facilities, and since the right-hand stall was occupied, I slipped into the left-hand, wheelchair accessible stall. It's important here to note that the major difference between the washrooms was length: they share the same layout but the accessible stall has about 3 extra feet of legroom. As I went about my business I stared at the opposite wall, a luxurious distance across the tiny room, and felt for a moment a bit lucky. If I was stuck using an onboard bathroom at least I got the extra-large one.

It was at precisely this moment when the door, apparently left unlocked, rolled slowly open. I was immediately eye to eye with two rear-facing passengers, but since I had chosen the accessible stall the handle and it's overlooked lock were several feet away. I did what I could to reach, onlookers visibly unsure whether to help or look away, until one mouthed at me simply, "YIKES".  I adjusted my pants and tried kicking it closed until finally I just hunched and waddled. Though I took my time composing myself I still couldn't bring myself to acknowledge my audience as I scurried back to my seat.

"Never again" I thought as I sat down. Just then the train rolled to a stop, delayed behind a freight derailment.

I tried so hard to just hang on; we were only a few hundred feet from the next station stop and the staff assured us we would be on our way shortly. I should have known the minestrone and up-sized Diet Coke were a bad choice. How could I show my face near that end of the train again?  After two excruciating hours of standstill I decided dignity be damned, I had to make another trip.

From down the aisle I scanned which washroom was free. Once again, the handicap stall's OCCUPIED sign was off, and although this toilet and I had gotten off to a bad start, I was in such a panic I practically ran to the back of the car. I rushed past the rear-facing passengers keeping my head down, focusing only on the bathroom's door latch as I whipped it open, stepped inside, and made sure this time to lock it behind me.

It was as the latch clicked to LOCK when I heard from several feet behind me a surprised, middle-aged woman say, "Ugh-occupied?"
I had gotten completely inside the bathroom without realizing it was already in use.

I mumbled something about the lock not working as I stepped back outside, holding the door closed as those nearby passengers mouths hung open.