Officially Claustrophobic

LIZ SAYS: We were sitting at a restaurant listening to two self-satisfied big shots talk about how they were going to screw Fox TV. Hearing them made me want to speak as much French as possible, so they would not talk to me or know I was American. It was just one of those things, one of those times when you think, "You are nothing like me, and I don't like the sounds you make." As they belched and cursed though their conversation, it occurred to me I had to go to the loo/restroom.
I went up the short flight of stairs to a clean but small space. I locked the door and did the do. Flushed, then I turned the lock and nothing. I turned it again and it moves partially but does not open.
Okay, there is a toilet and the space in which I am standing. And, the door, which is locked with 2 bolts. "Aide moi! help! hello!" and constant kicking yielded nothing and no one replied. It was officially hellish, as far as I was concerned.
The toilet and my standing space were all there was. All I could do was bang on the door with my hands and foot and scream in French and English. Argh! So, the animal in me banged and screamed for the next 10-15 minutes when suddenly, magically the the door came unlatched. I don't know how or why but it worked, I was free.
I fell into my husband's arms and recounted the horrific minutes stuck screaming and flailing in the bathroom. He had always said that he thought I was claustrophobic, now I officially believe he is right. Spouses love to be right.