Wednesday, May 18, 2011

I am a HUGE asshole.

Okay, I am a HUGE asshole. I was at the airport (still am, as I type this), toting around a hugely overstuffed carryon since checking a bag for fucking $50 is out of the question, when I had to pee. I dragged my baggage into the ladies room, and it was empty.

Upon entering, I was faced with two choices. A choose your own adventure of the very best kind. Option A: drag my overpacked bag into a single stall and attempt to close the door on both of us. Option B: step into the luxury handicapped suite complete with double the square footage and a bonus handrail.

Naturally, I chose the latter.

I took my sweet time in there--it was quiet, free from the loud, anxiety-ridden chaos of the terminal. And since nobody else was in there, I thought I'd even pop out my cellular device and hop on the old facebook (so much for that hiatus, right?)

So I'm checking status updates, relaxing in my luxury suite when I hear somebody come into the bathroom, interrupting my peaceful zen.

"Would you like to leave the wheelchair out here, ma'am?"

Oh shit.

What are the fucking CHANCES that somebody who actually NEEDS the luxury suite comes into the bathroom while I'm in there??

I quickly shoved my phone into my bag, got myself together and sheepishly exited the suite, head hung in shame. The look the TSA agent assisting the handicapped woman gave me was nothing short of disapproving, I'm sure. I couldn't lift my head up to meet her eyes to confirm. I washed my hands, unflushed my cheeks and skedaddled the hell out of there to the sounds of a wheelchair banging against the sides of the stall.

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