My Mum often tells me about a time we went out to eat when I was four or five. I was able to use the washroom independently at that point, and the restaurant had single occupancy washrooms that were visible from the table, so she and Dad let me go by myself.While in the washroom, some lady comes up and starts jiggling the handle, then knocks and jiggles it again. Now, I have never liked being interrupted in the washroom, and by the third jiggle, I was mad. I shouted at the top of my lungs, "Go away! I'm having a p*o!". The whole restaurant started laughing, and the offending lady looked embarrassed and left to wait until it was free, like she should have done after she found it locked. Mum said it was hard to keep a straight face when I came back cool as a cucumber, like it was obvious one had to shout at p*o-interrupters.