The country hick in the big city bathroom

This all-to-true story happened a couple of years ago at the Alabama Bar and Grill in Opry Mills Mall, Nashville, TN. I was there with Jacob and he was 5. Certainly not old enough to send into the men’s room by himself. So I take him into the ladies room, put him in a stall next to me and tell him to STAY there till I come to get him. I go into my stall, do my thing, come out, wash my hands (cleanliness first) and stand by Jacob’s door to wait for him. And wait for him. And wait. Now this was not unusual, because he tends to get distracted and takes longer to poop than any kid I’ve ever known. So a few minutes go by and I start to get antsy. I start talking to him in a low voice. "Are you OK?" No answer. "Can you hear me, I’m talking to you?" I start trying to peer through the tiny crack, but I can’t see a thing. So I speak louder. "What are you doing in there? Did you poop? Do you need help wiping your butt?" No answer. Just a frightening silence. Finally, I am at the end of my patience level and starting to get nervous and I get a quite a bit louder. "If you don’t answer me RIGHT NOW, I am coming in there and you won’t like what happens when I do." So Jacob answers me. "Boo." From behind me. I whirl around and stare into the face of an obviously overjoyed 5 year old. I grab him and start to flee as quickly as possible. He’s screaming, "Momma, I didn’t wash my hands!" Cleanliness is no longer a concern. Getting out of there is. As we round the corner to leave, I peek back over my shoulder to see a very frightened old lady cautiously sticking her head out of the stall. A quick "sorry for the mix-up", a wave of my hand and I am outta there.