Wheeling yourself hurriedly through the halls bracing tightly against your swollen bladder, you are relieved to finally see a sign for a handicapped restroom
As you push the door open, a voice calls from behind you.
You turn around in your chair just enough to see a middle-aged woman in a plain black sweater and grey chinos running down the hall toward you.
"Sir," she says again with a pronounced shortness of breath, "can I help you?"
"Haha, no, I don't think so," you chuckle in as friendly a tone as you can manage. "I've been in this chair a while, ma'am, I think I can handle the rigors of the bathroom by myself at this point."
"I'm sure you can, sir," she says, still panting from her light jog down the hall. "I think you misunderstand what I'm asking."
"Do try to read the signs, sir. This is quite obviously a broken neck handicapped bathroom."
"What?" you say, reeling from the ridiculousness of her statement.
"Sir, it's plain to see. Look at the little person on the sign. On any other handicapped sign you'd see a full, round head with a straight neck at the top. Clearly, the person depicted with this stick figure has suffered severe trauma to their neck and head."
You consider the sign. Indeed, instead of the traditional-looking stick figure in a wheelchair, the figure on this sign has his neck bent back at a disgusting angle. That cannot be normal. Still, though, what could possibly be different about this bathroom? How many people with broken necks could there be here?
"Where am I supposed to use it?" you ask impatiently.
"There's a handicapped bathroom up the stairs," she says curtly.
"What the hell? This is preposterous," you scoff.
"Oh? It's preposterous that people less fortunate than you should have their lives made a little easier?" she scolds.
"Whatever," you say dismissively as you wheel away.
You hear the woman mumble something that sounds a lot like "ableist" as you round the corner.