Since we were there, the thought was that we might as well head to Tijuana as well. We were there with another family and we went out to eat for breakfast at a Denney's before getting on the red trolley to head for the border. When we arrived, the two dads decided it would be more enjoyable for everyone to actually go into the city of Tijuana instead of just hitting the tourist market an easy walk across the border.

As I settled into my seat on the bus, the first discomforting rumbles from my own southern border started to express themselves. I remember vividly looking out that bus window and longing for the clean bathroom back at our hotel. By the time the bus wound its way to the center of Tijuana, my flatulance plug had disappeared. I needed whatever waste management facility the great metropolis of Tijuana could provide.

After exiting the bus, I immediately went to my dad and told him of my impending doom. He incredulously asked if I really needed a toilet now. I don't remember my response, but he since told me my face told him all he needed to know.

We went to a dirty café where my dad asked if I could use the bathroom. The fat lady in a stained apron only responded with, "Are you going to eat here?" After indicating no, we were told the dungeon trough was only for paying customers.

Things were now at a crisis. The only thing holding back the fecal hordes was my ability to clench the proper muscles without relaxing in any degree. We half ran to the next spot, an actually nice restaurant, where upon asking the angel hostess where the bathroom was, she pointed me to the back.

I was in full tunnel vision by this point. Didn't care what the Spanish was for "Men" or "Women". I bolted through the first door I came to and found a stall. But unfortunately in my haste to just get to a toilet, I lost precious time by not undoing the belt, button, and zipper on my way. The relief of making it to a toilet was just enough for those essential muscles to relax during my frantic dismantling of everything holding my pants on.

Just as my pants started to fall, the dam broke releasing the first violent wave into my descending underwear and pants before the being fully directed into the porcelain bowl as intended. Two more waves followed between which I tried to clean up my pants as best I could with the limited, low quality toilet paper provided. Eventually, I realized that my cleaning was not going to improve my standing and I made my way out.

By this point, both families had gathered outside the restaurant waiting for me to emerge. As I did, I quickly went to my mom and told her I just want to go back to the hotel. Again, my face told the rest of the story and the two of us left the group to wait for a bus to take us back to a first world country. The bus station had a small, toilet only, bathroom that they allowed me to use for waves 4 and 5. When I finally felt confident that the only thing remaining within me was shame and regret, I boarded the next bus with my mom insisting that I be next to a fully open window. Made back to the U.S. and the red trolley where I again insisted on an open window despite the complaints of people behind me due to "the wind".

Finally, a short car ride to the hotel seemed to take forever. When we made it there at last, I went straight to the shower, set the water flow to the desired heat and intensity, and closed the curtain behind me as I started the cleaning process--with my clothes still on.

Been to a lot of places since all over the world. Have no desire to ever go back to Mexico, though. Haven't ever been back to Denney's either.