Older readers will remember one of the most embarrassing moments ever endured by an American president. On Jan. 8, 1992, George H. W. Bush was in Tokyo on a 12-day trade mission through Asia. During a formal state banquet hosted by Japanese Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa, Bush suddenly slumped f orward, vomited onto the prime minister’s lap and fainted. Doctors later diagnosed acute gastroenteritis — a severe stomach flu.  Bush recovered quickly and graciously explained what had happened the following day.  No matter. The world had its video clip. It played over and over. Dana Carvey turned it into comedy gold on “Saturday Night Live.”  Some human foibles never grow old, perhaps because, sooner or later, every one of us experiences one.  A generation earlier, Gerald Ford stumbled down the stairs of Air Force One. Chevy Chase turned the mishap into comedy history, and millions remember the parody more vividly than the fall itself.  We all have one.  Mine happened in Beijing.  About 30 years ago, 40 of us from the Loyola Marymount MBA program spent three weeks touring Asia studying computer manufacturing. One stop took us to Beijing. One morning we visited the Great Wall. Unforgettable. On the way back, we stopped at a McDonald’s for lunch.  Big mistake.  I should have ordered the Happy Meal.  Instead, I ordered the Unhappy Meal.  After lunch we continued toward the Silk Market district. Before long, my stomach began issuing increasingly urgent memorandums. I started searching for a restroom.  Beijing wasn’t the polished tourist destination it has since become. Public restrooms were scarce, and I couldn’t find one anywhere. I convinced myself I could make it back to the hotel.  I was wrong.  Beijing traffic was every bit as miserable then as Los Angeles traffic is today. Throw in one of Beijing’s famous mud rains, where desert dust mixes with rainfall, and everything slowed to a crawl.  I approached the bus driver.  “I need a restroom.”  Nothing.  Five minutes later I approached him again.  “I really, really need a restroom.”  Still nothing.  Several agonizing minutes later, I made one final trip to the front of the bus and explained that an international incident was about to occur if he didn’t stop immediately.  This time he understood.  The bus pulled over beside what appeared to be a military compound. An imposing armed guard stood at the entrance. I ran toward him in desperation. He took one look at my face and, without a word, pointed behind a nearby wall.  Which universally meant, “Go there.”  There wasn’t time for further clarification.  There I was, soaked by muddy rain, hidden behind a wall beside a Chinese military facility, while 39 other future executives from one of Southern California’s finest MBA programs laughed themselves silly on the other side.  Then came what I still consider divine intervention.  A gust of wind kicked up.  Old newspapers began tumbling across the muddy field.  Salvation.  I grabbed every page I could catch and thanked God for both the wind and the newspaper industry.  Eventually, I wobbled back to the bus.  The welcome committee had prepared a musical number.  Thirty-nine future captains of industry — accountants, bankers, consultants and business leaders — were enthusiastically singing the “Diarrhea Song.”  “When you’re driving down the road, and you’re carrying a load …”  The program director eventually restored order.  Restoring my dignity took a little longer. And for the remainder of the trip I endured every joke imaginable.  Funny what 30 years will do.  At the time, I was convinced it was the most humiliating experience of my life. Today, it’s one of my favorite stories because it’s so unmistakably human. Looking back, I probably needed the humbling.  Some think I still do.  Sooner or later, life humbles every one of us. None of us gets a pass. Some get humbled in front of millions. Others behind a wall in Beijing while a bus full of MBA classmates serenades them with the “Diarrhea Song.”  One awful moment — or even a string of them — is rarely the whole story. They’re just pages in a very long book.  We’ve turned humiliation into a blood sport. We cheer the stumble, replay the blunder, and pile on while someone else is living through one of the worst days of his life. Strip away the titles, politics, wealth and ego, and we’re all one Unhappy Meal away from a muddy wall in Beijing.  We’re all human. We’re all imperfect. We’re all riding in the same rickety boat.  A little less ridicule and a little more grace would make for a better country — and a better life.  Gary Horton is chairman of the College of the Canyons Foundation board. His “Full Speed to Port!” has appeared in The Signal since 2006. The opinions expressed in his column do not necessarily reflect the opinions of The Signal or its editorial board. The post Gary Horton | We All Have One Story Like This One appeared first on Santa Clarita Valley Signal. ...read more read less