Bathroom stories just never get old

I walked into our hostal, École, in Pucón and glanced at the key rack. The key for "Coigue" room was gone so I assumed Katie must already be in the room. Rshing down the hall, I barely even stopped to look in the full-length mirror. I almost always did -- they're a rare find in Chile and since the hostal had one in the main hall, I felt obligated to take advantage of it every time I passed. But this particular night I barely remembered it was there. All my mind could focus on was how badly I had to use the bathroom.
Although my bladder capacity has increased dramatically since being in Chile, this night I had maxed it out. In Chile, public restrooms are few and far between, a lot like full-length mirrors. And where they do pop up, it's not uncommon to have to pay for bathroom usage. And even if you by chance happen upon a free bathroom, the chances of there being toilet paper actually in the stall is slim to none. So, feeling quite lucky to be sharing a bathroom with only 10 other hostal-dwellers, I headed through the back garden to the bathroom.
As I turned from locking the door, I immediately noticed that the toilet lid was down, which I have come to recognize as the sign for "Treat Waiting Inside." I lifted the lid cautiously and sure enough a brownish green treat lay curled at the bottom of the toilet.
No biggie, I thought, referring to the situation and the treat. I'll just flush it down after I pee.
Upon finishing enjoying my free toilet, I did just that. The water swirled, drained, refilled. But still the treat stayed firmly placed in the hole at the bottom of the toilet. I stared in awe and flushed again. Swirl, drain, refill. No movement. I didn't know what to do, but I didn't want anyone to think I was the leaver of the lodged log. I slowly eased the bathroom door open and looked out. No one sitting in the garden. NO one by the rooms. No sign of approaching persons. I darted out, took the stairs 2 at a time and closed myself in the safety of my room. Katie looked surprised as I busted through the door.
"Katie, did you poop in the toilet?" Katie's already huge blue eyes widened in surprise at the abruptness of my question.
"Um, no. Why?" I launched into an explanation of what I'd just seen, being sure to include all the important details like size, shape and color. We were both emitting disgusted shrieks of laughter when Katie voiced what I had been pondering since I'd seen the stubborn poo.
"Wonder who did it?" The question only made us laugh more. We were being loud in the immense enjoyment of such an absurd conversation, when I remembered overhearing Elizabeth, Stephanie and Jacqueline talking through the paper thin walls the first day. At the time we thought it was fun and great, making jokes about not liking each other and agreeing on dinnertime from separate rooms, but suddenly it dawned on me that we could have neighbors on the other side, one of whom could be guilty of the toilet-blocking poop.
"Katie! Do you think anyone is staying on this side of us?" I pointed to the wall beside my bed. Katie's mouth made an O as she realized the implications of my question.
"What if they heard us? What if it's thiers?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper.
Perhaps my imagination is too active, but the thought of someone sitting in the next room hearing two girls laughing hysterically about poop sparked a whole series of events in my mind.
"Yeah, I'm just waiting to hear a little voice go 'Sorry! It's mine!'" I raised my hand to claim the poop. We howled. At this point there was no way to hide from our neighbors that we were ridiculing their possible poop. But in case they had missed any of the conversation Katie and I both yelled "It's not ours!" Just for good measure.


EPILOGUE:
Megyn and Katie both went down to the bathroom later the same evening and both flushed the toilet multiple times in an attempt to dislodge the poo. However, no attempts were successful.