Completely naked and covered in my own poop, I chuckle. At this point, if I don’t laugh I have to cry. As I open the bathroom door to the lobby, I think to myself, “Who else on earth could be having a worse night than me?” My question is immediately answered. I see a trail of shit, starting very wide at my feet, getting progressively smaller until it apexes at the chunky white shoes of none other than the small Mexican lady janitor. Her eyes met mine. We may have been separated by numerous religious, linguistic, cultural and socioeconomic barriers, but the expression on her face crosses all
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