Alice McFlurry 
When I was about twelve, I went on my first flight as a solo traveler where part of that included a layover in Chicago.
When my flight landed in Chicago, I went to my transfer’s gate, but there was a wait before my next flight departed so I went into the restroom to kill time.
It seems like a weird place for a kid to kill time, but I had this thing where I’d do karate kicks in front of public restroom mirrors because I didn’t have a full-length mirror at home and I wanted to be able to see my “full moves.”
It should be noted that the only karate “training” I’d ever had was watching a VHS tape of the Karate Kid on repeat, but I was certain I was an absolute natural, so I “did my kicks” in front of the mirror and was having a great time until a lady walked in the restroom and saw me doing my kicks.
I was absolutely mortified, so I grabbed my enormous backpack and tennis racket bag and proceeded to hide in a restroom stall until I was confident that nobody else was in there, at which time I exited the restroom and headed to my gate which was just across the aisle.
As I was walking up, I noticed that all of the people who were previously waiting by the gate were now gone and it was then that I learned I was too late and they had already closed the boarding doors.
I was absolutely terrified that I was going to be trapped in Chicago for the rest of my life and I broke down crying, but the gate attendant was very nice and made a call to the plane and they ended up making an exception to let me on and the doors were reopened and I made my way toward the plane.
Because I was late, they had given away my seat so I had to take the last seat available which was at the back of the plane. As a result, I began my torturous walk of shame past all of the other passengers who were now delayed because of me.
It felt like slow motion as I sobbed uncontrollably and lugged my gigantic backpack, all while my tennis racket bag smacked against every single seat as I walked down the aisle toward the back of the plane.
After what felt like an eternity, I FINALLY made it to my seat at the back of the plane and I was relieved that the embarrassment was over—until I looked up and saw the very same lady who caught me doing karate kicks in the restroom.
She didn’t seem to recognize me (or at least pretended not to), but *I* knew.
As a result of that traumatic experience, I never practiced my karate kicks again, but I bet I’m still REALLY good at them.
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