I got locked in the bathroom of the Presidential box at the Kennedy Center.
Locked in. I couldn't get out. For easily ten minutes--ten precious minutes I could've been using to chow down expensive chocolates and red, white, and blue M&Ms with the Presidential Seal--I struggled to get out of the President's personal john. All this wearing a fancy black dress and heels.
No cell phone. No pen to write a desperate plea for help on toilet paper and shove under the door. No knowledge whatsoever of Morse Code.
So I did what any self-respecting girl would do. I noticed the ceiling panels could house a secret Presidential escape route and began formulating a plan to climb from the toilet to the counter to the roof.
Thankfully, my friends noticed my absence (although Luke confessed he thought I was merely having stomach problems) and they rushed to my aid. Apparently, there is some magic formula involving turning the door handle to the left. Bunch of commies.