His walker clicked on the tiled floor as he approached huffing and grunting the whole way. He stopped in front of my stall, the feet of his walker in full view under the door jamb, and pushed impotently on the locked door. A loud snort followed and he shambled into the adjacent, normal-sized stall. For what seemed like an eternity he negotiated the tight space, stumbling and banging into the walls, grabbing onto the tp dispenser for support. Twice, his walker tipped over when he tried to lean it against the stall.
Now I am not a guy who languishes in guilt. Cheating, lying, stealing, breaking hearts… it’s all part of the wonderful fabric of life. Like Donald Trump said about his divorces: “The guilt last for five minutes, then you get over it.” But this made me feel bad, real bad. I responded as only an honorable gentleman would — I hightailed it out of there before he could see my face.