Every cubicle is occupied.. 

Finally, a door  opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman  leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't  latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are  about to wet your pants! 

The dispenser for  the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum, no  doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the  door hook, if there was one, so you carefully, but quickly  drape it around your neck, (Mum would turn over in her grave  if you put it on the FLOOR!) down with your  pants and assume ' The Stance. 

In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd  love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to lay toilet paper on it, you hold 'The  Stance.' 

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. 
In your mind, you can  hear your mother's voice saying, 'Dear, if you had tried to  clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet  paper!' Your thighs shake more. 

You remember the  tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one  that's still in your bag (the bag around your neck, that now  you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the  same time). That would have to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than you thumbnail. 

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't  work. 

The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest and you and your bag topple backward against the tank of the toilet. 

'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious,  tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, while losing  your footing altogether and sliding down directly onto the  TOILET  SEAT. It is wet of course.  You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. 
You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because you're  certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get. 

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that covers your bum and runs down your legs and into your shoes. 

The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. 

At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a sweet wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. 

You can't figure out how to operate the taps with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting. You are no longer able to smile politely to them. 

A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it?) 
You yank the paper from your shoe, plonk it in the woman's hand and tell her  warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the  men's toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why is your bag hanging around your neck?

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public toilets. It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that other commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's so the  other girl can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you Kleenex under the door.