WHAT IS THE SIGNIFICANCE OF GETTING LOCKED IN A RESTROOM during a party at someone's (one bedroom) house?

That's what I was asking myself, as I tried the old Victorian key for the 11th time. How stupid can you get right? As I hunched down before the old lockset, and made another attempt to find the mechanical sweetspot inside the box-lock. I could hear voices outside in the yard; laughter and music. A man and woman were in the kitchen, on the other side of the door which had designed to entrap me. They exchanged a few words and I could hear the distinct tinkle of beer bottles as the fridge door open and shut.
Though I'm fortunate to not suffer from claustrophobia, I was not unaware of the rising temperature in the little, unvented tile bathroom. It was the heat from my agitation, and my agitation was due to the potential for embarrassment - inherent in the situation.

It would be another fifteen minutes before I got out of there, which I only achieved by removing the hinge pins from the door - with a hammer and screwdriver passed to me through the window... The hostess, Lauren, walked up just as we were taking the door off of its hinges.
"What on earth is going on here?" She asked.

"Nothing much. Vince just got locked in the bathroom."