There’s something that’s been bothering me for a few days and I have to get it off my chest. It’s tough to admit when you’re in the wrong. And even though there’s nothing I can do to change the past, maybe if I admit it publicly, I’ll feel better about the whole thing.
Yes, I used the handicapped stall in a public restroom. There, I said it.
I’m very sorry. And even though I felt bad about it at the time, still I have to say this in my defense: have you ever tried squeezing into one of those phone booth-sized stalls at the airport? Who designs these things? Whoever it is, they apparently don’t have to practice what they preach, so to speak.
So there you are at the airport, dragging around two-hundred pounds worth of luggage; your big Samsonite sprung a wheel somewhere around Tulsa, and the handle to your carry-on bag is hanging by a thread. Of course you’re going to take the path of least resistance.
Despite all this, maybe I wouldn’t have done it, but when I walked in to the Men’s Room, I saw a strange phenomenon: all of the non-handicapped toilets were flushing randomly, even though there was nobody else there. I was afraid there might be a toilet-stalking poltergeist at the Atlanta airport. So I took the handicapped crapper, okay? Just ease up about it, would you?
Ah, what spaciousness! I spread out my gear, pulled out my iPad, and sat down for a nice long game of Sudoku. But I wasn’t there more than three minutes when a crowd large enough to fill the Houston Astrodome walked in. And suddenly BANG BANG BANG, this kid’s tugging at the door. What the hell?
His old man must have told the kid ten times “Timmy, it’s locked” but each time he said it, little Timmy only pulled harder. The kid wouldn’t give up. And it’s not like he needed it: just because you might not be the sharpest tool in the shed doesn’t mean you’re entitled to the handicapped toilet.
Little Timmy was righteously pissed by then. He was carrying this T-Rex figurine and abruptly chucked it to the floor, jumped on T-Rex a few times, then kicked him into the stall. T-Rex bounced once and was still, right at my feet.
Maybe in the dark machine of Timmy’s stunted mind, he was sending T-Rex into the stall to eat the offending toilet squatter. Whatever the reason, he quickly realized his mistake, because he promptly started crying like he lost his best friend. I’ve always liked dinosaurs and I thought about keeping him, just to teach the kid a lesson, but T-Rex was pretty scary looking – fierce teeth, a hint of blood around his scaly lips, bright yellow eyes.
Even more scary, Timmy was preparing to come under the stall door looking for him, so I gave old T-Rex a good kick, hard enough to send him flying under the sinks.
By now, Timmy was frantic, crawling around on the floor, crying and drooling all over the place. The old man had to drag Timmy out of the restroom by one hand, kicking and screaming the whole way.
I hope he didn’t have to pee.
I waited until the place was clear, packed up my shit, and made a quick getaway. I needed a beer after all that.