¡qué vergüenza!

If you noticed my blog description, I mention there that you, dear readers, will be following my adventures and misfortunes in Europe. I've already chronicled my disasterous trip to the grocery store when I first arrived. But my latest misfortune is worse.

This morning I was waiting for the math teacher so that we could go to class together. I was poking around in the hallway, and I saw her come out of an area I hadn't been before. I figured it was a supply room or something of the sort.

As it turns out, that area I'd never seen before was the women's restroom.

By deduction, you can probably figure out that I have been going in the men's restroom for the past month and a half. How mortifying. ¡qué vergüenza! All of the sudden, it makes sense why the male teachers were always urinating with the stall doors partially open. It's a man thing, I suppose.

Ambiguous, no?

Now that I think about it, the fact that the toilets in most of the stalls were missing seats should've been an indication I was in a men's bathroom. After all, male restrooms are never in the same condition as ladies' rooms. But there aren't urinals, so there were no blatant signs the place wasn't meant for me. Speaking of obvious signs, there's no sign saying it's for men; it just says "teachers' toilets."

I can't imagine how awkward the male teachers felt when we were standing next to each other washing our hands. Or when they realized that they were peeing with the door open while I was in there. Both students and teachers have seen me go in there. I'm not sure why no one mentioned I was in the wrong place. I guess it's like when you and your friend are eating garlic bread, and he has junk in his teeth but it's too uncomfortable to mention.

Here's to blunders and the many laughs that follow.

Un saludo,
Teresa