Of course all five bathroom stalls would be in use. I don't know why I thought I could be just a tad bit luckier today. Obviously someone's sticking needles in a mini voodoo doll somewhere just to spite me. That would explain everything down to a T.

I cross my legs extremely tight, so tight a little girl stops crabbing at her stressed mom and stares at me in disgust.

Oh just you wait. The minute you hit puberty, it will all make sense.

I roll my eyes at her, and she grips her mother's pinky finger in fear. I think nothing of it, until I realize she's staring at the blood.

"Mommy, look! She's bleeding mommy!" The little brat yanks on her mom's finger, and talks a little too loud.

Heads turn, and multiple women size me up, most likely internally judging me. Like they haven't had to deal with a situation like this before.

It's common sense. Every girl to live, breathe, and walk this earth after getting her period has experienced some kind of traumatic problem at one point.

Unless you happen to attract luck in all aspects of life, you can't avoid the embarrassment.

It was the first day of eighth grade. I wore a green dress with no tights.

The night before, I felt achy, tired, and terribly moody. My mom told me it was nerves, and hushed me.

I decided to actually listen to her once, which turned out to be a huge mistake.

The second my mom dropped me off at the my middle school, little old me, the transfer from out of state, strutted into the building with my head held high.

I wasn't feeling the confidence within me, but I tried to show my worthiness to be apart of the populars. I smiled at every passerby, light dancing in my eyes.

Everything was rolling smoothly, until I heard a boy yell, "It's not Christmas yet, dweeb."

At this comment, I subtly reached behind my backpack and lifted up my dress. A sticky liquid coated my hand, and before I even checked to make sure, I knew I had gotten my first period.

From then on, I was called Bloody Mary. All the boys thought they were so sly and clever by terrorizing me with that nickname, because A.) I looked like Christmas puked all over me and my dress, B.) Mary was Jesus' mother's name and C.) the main reason all this began in the first place: my blood.

And thence the reason I have a 100% hate relationship with my period.

I nervously clench and unclench my hand around the tampon.

I've never used one before, as you've probably gathered, but I guess today is my lucky day.

Trust me: I've tried YouTube. I've tried Sex Ed class. I've tried Google. I have tried everything under the sun; every search engine, video platform, and class, anything, really, to help me learn how to use one of these suckers. Only for me to come up short.

The uncomfortable sensation of blood running down my leg jolts me out of my thoughts, and I check my watch for the time.

Any sane person would walk out of the restroom and go home. I refuse to walk out on the streets of New York with blood covering the entirety of my ass, though.

No thank you. That's not a very good way to pick up men. It would just lead to the whole "You smell like a dead fish" line in the end.

Finally, after what seems like ages, a stall opens. Out comes a tiny boy and his mom. She takes his hand and walks him to the nearest sink to wash up.

A 17, maybe 18 year old girl taps away at her phone. She doesn't realize it's her turn to use the toilet, and someone behind her grumbles.

Without looking up, she moves like a zombie towards the open stall.

Kids these days. Too engrossed in technology to even take care of their own wellbeing.

I, for one, don't own an iPhone. I have an ancient flip phone, and it's perfect enough to make the appropriate phone calls.

Slowly, one by one, the line dwindles down into barely nothing.

As my turn arrives, an elderly women wobbles out the bathroom. Before she makes it to the sinks, she points at me and then behind her bony shoulder.

"Young lady, the toilet's clogged. Unless you want to pee on my crap, you'll have to wait a little longer." Her frail body books it out of the restrooms once she wipes her hands dry.

You have got to be kidding me.

I take my chances and walk into the open stall, locking the door after me.

Immediately, a stinky and rancid smell greets my nose, and I swear it burns all the tiny nose hairs I have into nothing.

I pinch my nose, disgusted by the shit the old lady left for me.

Today is so not my day.