Mujeres is Spanish for Women

I had forgotten. Bathrooms in Mexico are labeled with a solid M for women, and H for men (hombres). I prefer pictures on the door, now, after this savage mishap my brother and I got into at a beautiful restaurant in Cabo.

I got up from the table and tried to find the bathroom. My brother had left 20 seconds before, and I, not taking the opportunity to explore the restaurant with him, meandered around the restaurant until I found a waiter near the kitchen.

“Excuse me, sir, where’s the bathroom?” I asked.

He didn’t say a word but led me around a few corners and to two doors at the end of a rather wide hallway. Both were well lit and only four or five feet apart. One had an M on it and the other, a W. The waiter pointed to the door on the right, the one with an M, and so I proceeded to the door. The waiter evidently disappeared back around the corner, as he definitely did not see what happened next.

I brazenly opened the M door and, to my utter dismay, saw two women adjusting their hair and dresses in the reflection of a mirror situated behind them. My mind panicked and I drop the handle of the door, turning away in embarrassment. In my haste, the door caught the sandal of my right foot and trapped it, tearing it off my foot. I stumbled a few feet backwards, retrieved my sandal, and dove into the door with a W.

In my panicked state I failed to notice all the notifications in the bathroom. Firstly, the W on the door. Secondly, as I rushed past the sinks and counter, there were no urinals. I opened the nearest door and went to the bathroom, wondering why the hell they wouldn’t place urinals in the mens’ bathroom. Luckily I had locked the slatted door behind me, because after I flushed the toilet and resituated myself, the door burst open with two women giggling and speaking spanish so rapidly that my three years experience in the language was no help.

Apparently my brother had been relieving himself in the proper bathroom, the M one, when the women came careening in to fix themselves up and have a discussion. After peeking around a small wall and seeing my brother at the urinals, the women screamed and fled. I, of course, saw them about 12 seconds before this all happened, and dove into the W restroom. Fifteen seconds later, I was joined by the women my brother had frightened out of the other bathroom.

“MUJERES! BAAHAHAHAHHAH!” They laughed for a solid three minutes, chatting merrily next to the sink. The door to my stall went straight to the floor and was positioned in such a way that there was no way to see inside, lest someone laid on the floor and looked up through the slats in the door.

I leaned against the wall with my forearm and stifled my laughter until the women left. I was trapped in that bathroom for about 5 minutes while they giggled at the absurdity of what happened and I laughed at the fact that I was imprisoned in a womens’ restroom. I heard the door open and close as they left, waited 10 seconds, and threw the stall door open to escape.

It was only upon returning to my family’s table with a smile on my face that I learned what had happened to Adam, and had therefore caused my blunder.

It’s remarkable the difference a few seconds can play in the events of our lives!