A bathroom tale

Ed. note: The following is a pathetic recounting of my adventures in a bathroom Sunday night. It started out as a simple blog entry, but then grew to immense proportions and I had to put it here. Consider yourself warned.
Earlier this evening, I enjoyed a fine little shindig at peterme's place. It was nice to see everyone and hang out, but something went horribly awry.
So I excuse myself at one point to use the restroom, which is right off the main room area next to the kitchen where everyone happens to be hanging out. I notice the door doesn't quite close all the way, so I try to nudge it into place. It's one of those old apartments where everything is covered in 12 coats of paint and nothing quite fits perfectly. The door keeps sort of popping open, so I lean against it to close it all the way, not wanting to have the door suddenly swing open in the middle of party while I'm…y'know.
So I finish using the restroom, turn to open the door and the handle spins left, spins to the right, but the latch isn't moving. I think "huh?" try again, and nothing. I realize I'm both stuck in a bathroom at a party, and stuck in an old episode of the Brady Bunch where the kids get stuck in Sam the Butcher's freezer.
I start twisting the knob and nothing, I make a little noise, but no one hears me (there is a party going on after all), so I grab my cell phone from my pocket and call, on the other side of the door. Everyone gets a good laugh out of: a) the phone call spanning 6 ft to convey that I'm stuck, and b) that I'm stuck in a bathroom.
A few people outside try to let me out, but the handle is locked for them. Eventually we figure out that I have to dismantle the handle from the inside but I have no tools. Peter finds a screwdriver, says he can come around to the tiny bathroom window to pass it to me. Then I take a closer look at the window, and it actually turns out to be a vent screen sort of thing that is screwed in from the inside. There is no "open" like a real window would be. At this point, I am truly fucked. I can't get out through a non-window, and I don't have any tools to take apart the door. I imagine a few people outside, taking turns kicking in the door, and the door busting open in a cloud of smoke and splintered wood, my rescuers freeing me from my prison in a heroic way. But that wouldn't happen, they'd need permission from the landlord to take such a drastic action, and how long would I be stuck waiting for that? An hour?
But Peter, the resourceful little devil, sees this and figures out a way to bend the bars and wedge a small screwdriver through. I get the tool, and get the handle taken apart, and eventually someone gets the latch moving and I'm free.
And embarrassed of course.
I really should write an epinion of Peter's bathroom – the user experience was terrible.