Have you ever wondered how a strange childhood fear develops? I haven't, because I have vivid memories of it! I have told this story at least 500 times in my life. By now, everyone I know is sick of hearing it. So I decided to share it with you, reader, and I hope it makes you feel a little bit better about any traumatic experiences that have happened in your life.

It was a humid summer in '05 and I was merely seven years old when my family and I took a trip to Europe. I could be wrong but as I recall, it took two days and three flights before reaching our destination of Tampere, Finland. We were visiting distant relatives and the experience as a whole was a blast, but there was one moment that was unforgettable.

One of the connecting flights had an eight-hour layover in Sweden. Longest eight hours of my life. As time passed my mom fell asleep soon followed by my brother. My dad sat next to me with a book in hand and I decided to check out the bathrooms. I didn't want to wake my mom up because she had hardly slept on the plane. I told my dad where I was going and I began what should've been a smooth-sailing journey. I made my way into the bathroom and then into my private stall. So far, so good.

This specific bathroom was extremely nice. It was so private, the door was all the way to the floor and almost reached the ceiling. The lock was also more high-tech compared to the normal little sliding latch. Inside each stall was a separate sink and soap as well. Anyway, I did my business, washed my hands, and opened the door. Except, the door wouldn't open.

I thought maybe I couldn't open it because of the soap on my hands. So I calmed down a little and dried my hands and tried again. No luck. See, in most cases I would've gritted my teeth, got on the dirty floor, and crawled out from under the stall, but I couldn't do that in this scenario. No. I was as trapped as a mouse. I began to pound on the door SCREAMING for help. I could hear some people out there but not a single one came to my rescue.

I resorted to crying on the toilet until what felt like hours had passed. My dad finally came looking for me (thanks dad). I mean, he had never seen me come out of the bathroom so he knew I was still in there. He had asked a girl if she had seen me and she said that some little girl had been crying asking for help. Thanks, girl, for originally ignoring that cry for help. So what was the problem? You may ask. Well, also unlike the standard bathroom, I was supposed to pull the door in, instead of pushing it out. Duh.

All ended well and I survived but not without some mental scars leaving me afraid to lock bathroom stalls unless there's a direct route out via dirty floor. If you have any crazy experiences where you've been trapped or things that made you develop a fear, leave a comment and let me know. Also feel free to share this and share your own experience in your header. Thanks for reading, until next week.

—Sarah