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(CNN) - It was 10 years ago during a road trip to Germany that I did with my then boyfriend.
She was a rather useless traveling companion. I couldn't drive and I didn't speak German either, so my boyfriend did both. From Switzerland we crossed the border and then stopped at a small town near Stuttgart.
Our first day was a sunny Saturday in July morning. We decided to visit the city's thermal baths, a glamorous name for a municipal pool with a sauna / steam bath. As in many places in Europe, bathing suits must be worn at the pool, but you have to enter the sauna au naturel.
We paddled in the pool for an hour and then I agreed with my boyfriend to meet at the cafeteria. I undressed, grabbed a small facial towel, and searched for the sauna.
I followed the smell of cedar to a dark door. Opening it, I blinked in the gloom and spotted naked middle-aged German men. Someone yelled something joyful at me; I got out of there and walked down the hall to two unidentified doors.
It is logical, without a doubt, that in front of the sauna for men is the sauna for women. On a whim, I chose the door on the left, which closed behind me.
It was not the sauna. It was the fire escape.
I was trapped, naked, inside the fire escape.
Nudity is normal in Germany, where many locals are so comfortable with and without clothing. A nudism organization known as the FKK maintains exclusively nude beaches where it is mandatory to remove your clothes upon arrival - RALF HIRSCHBERGER / AFP / Getty Images
No one knew where I was
It was a dark and dusty second floor. Huge fans recessed into the wall rumbled above me with the volume of an airplane engine. I screamed for help, pounding on the door until I had bruises on my wrist. There is nothing so pathetically vulnerable as listening to your own voice, suddenly very naked, asking for help within the abyss.
Crying, I ran down the metal stairs trying to figure out what part of me I should cover with the little towel, my face maybe? I banged on the downstairs doors for another 10 minutes. Nothing.
I realized that nobody knew where I was. I pictured my boyfriend calling the police, a nationwide search, my graduation photo on the news, and then, months later, my naked body found on a fire escape, with a washcloth modestly covering my face.
On the ground floor I noticed a ray of light and was relieved: This must be the way out! I thought.
But no, it was an industrial machine room, a cacophony of drone of bombs and, inexplicably, monstrous motors with cages around it. Everything had a sign of electrocution.
Sobbing, I ran naked through the industrial engine room with the small towel. There was no way out. However, there was a service elevator. Out of sheer panic, I ran to the elevator.
The elemental sense of shame
In the elevator I pushed all the buttons without knowing what to expect. I uselessly went up and down the fire escape a few times. In the upper left corner I then saw a security camera light bulb.
A horrible thought occurred to me: I really need someone to witness this even if it is my greatest moment of shame, because then they will come to rescue me. As I waved my hand at the security camera, I covered my strategic areas with the small towel.
After a while I heard something in German through a loudspeaker. My elemental sense of shame told me that they were talking about me, that someone was giving me instructions.
But what they didn't know is that he couldn't speak German. And how did he communicate that to a security camera? I made movements as if he were saying, "I'm stupid," while crying louder and waving to the camera.
Finally, the elevator reached the ground floor and the doors opened. A spa employee was standing in front of me. I calculated 19 years at the most. Was a kid. I thought then that no one had worn better clothes than him at the time. He said something to me and I cried. I sighed, his deep disappointment was somehow even more mortifying to me at the time.
The young man opened a door in the wall. To my horror the exit faced the street. It seemed like the only way to get rid of it was to completely leave the building and reenter the spa reception. I ducked behind the door, hysterical. At the end of the street, people lined up at the front doors, on the pavement, and in the parking lot.
At this point, I experienced the transcendence of shame. I fully traveled through shame and came out on the other side. My whole body was numb. I raised my head, threw my shoulders back, dropped the washcloth, and followed this man. Families parked their cars. There were children, but I couldn't see them. He could, yes, savor the universe.
Saved by a lobster
The reception was crowded with people queuing and my chaperone had to call so I could get through the crowd. Spa attendees turned around asking questions and looking for the culprit who was skipping the queue.
The spa employee pushed through the crowd to speak to the receptionist. Meanwhile, I was forced to stop there. Waiting. Next to me, an old woman wearing a flowery swimming cap offered me her pool float. It was lobster-shaped. The claws became my makeshift bra.
The receptionist finally said something to me and my generous neighbor, a lobster lover, said to me, "She wants your ID."
My identification.
I am using only one lobster.
Where would I keep my ID?
Despite the language barrier, I suppose the receptionist had no problem interpreting my expression, as she let me through the turnstiles. However, they were very narrow. After several attempts I understood that I should return the lobster to my savior of the flowery swimming cap.
I hurried to go to the locker room. I took a shameful 10-minute shower with the required sob and exfoliation. Then I threw my clothes over me and ran to look for my boyfriend in the cafe.
And on top of that he had the audacity to be grumpy, because he was waiting for me for an hour.
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Anbara Salam's next novel "Belladonna" will be available in the summer of 2020.
