I was eighteen years old in 1965 and had lived a sheltered life. I was taking a shower one morning in Da Nang, Viet Nam when momma-son walked in with a basket of laundry, turned on the shower next to mine, squatted down, and started washing the laundry by hand.

I was recruited to join a small engineering consulting group. About the third day on the job, the owner and I were flying to a job site in his airplane. I went home and packed a bag and returned to the office after everyone else had gone home for the day.

The owner told me to lock up and be sure to check the women's restroom because they always leave the window open. I opened the door to the small women's restroom just as his beautiful wife stood up with her panties around her ankles and her dress up under her arms facing me directly. I had no idea she was going with us and in the building. I said sorry and closed the door.

During the three hour flight, I kept wondering if she would tell her husband and what his reaction would be. I was wondering if he would fire me and I would have to find my way home. Nothing was ever said about the incident.

Then, there is the large waterfall urinal in the kitchy place near San Louis Obispo ...

When I was in Germany, many years ago, the men’s urinals in the rural areas were often primitive: you pissed against a wall. The piss ran down the wall to a trough at its base, then out to wherever.

But some of them had been updated with porcelain urinals. You pissed into the urinal, the piss drained out of the urinal to fall into the trough, then out to wherever. Modern facility!

Feces everywhere in a stall. It literally looked like it was sprayed on with an industrial airless paint sprayer.

When I told the front desk they were unperturbed by my information.