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Count me among the ranks of the spat upon. I yelled at a handicapped elderly woman. Seriously. Perhaps not so seriously, it was more an intense hissed-whisper than it was true yelling. Nevertheless, how many people can say that? That they've yelled at a handicapped person? Especially when it was their disabled nature that sparked part of the conversation?

No doubt, and rightfully so, you're wondering what on earth could have possessed me to do such a demonic and wretched act. It goes thusly: I was in the library attending on Jenn who was working at the time and had to tinkle in the worst way. So I made my way to the only bathroom on that floor, which happened to also be handicapped. One of those one toilet duel gendered doo-wahs. So I go in, lift the seat, do my dirty business, lower the seat, and wash my hands. Here's what's key: that I simply put my gloves on my wet hands and forewent using any paper towels.

Sitting down and reading Aristotle (oh the scholar am I), I later hear this cane clunking towards me from behind. A voice hisses catching my attention.

"You."

You? Someone is calling me "You"? That is somehow very unnerving, and already tickling whatever imp inside makes me boil.

"I was waiting to use the bathroom, and just want you to know that I am deeply offended by how you left the bathroom," hissed the old women, towering over me in the armchair.

"You don't like the way I exited the bathroom?" I asked. What, that I used it at all is offending her? I wondered silently to myself.

"Go look and fix it." She demands.

Upon inspection, I conclude (as you no doubt have already picked up by now) that there were paper towels scattered across the floor next to the trash can behind the door. So that's the hag's problem, she's upset that someone left their trash littered about and, since I was the last person she saw using the bathroom, she naturally assumes it wasn't me. Not someone who went in any of the preceding 13 hours that the library was open. How precise a pinning of blame, I marvel at her Sherlockish abilities.

Well, I left the bathroom, and I most certainly didn't clean up the dross- not out of spite, hear you me, but rather deterred by the bloody nature of the paper. Ew. I found the feeble woman sitting at a computer and walked up behind her, seething.

"You. I just left the bathroom and wanted you to know that I am deeply offended by how you approached me, ordered me, and blamed me. How dare you! That is not my mess and I am not touching it!"

Shaking with anger, I left the library that night, and now retroflect on the events. Why on earth was she so "offended", anyway? And it hits me, that she feels as if that bathroom is somehow especially her bathroom because she uses a cane. As if it is set aside for her privilege versus the rest of the able-bodied human race, and that I am merely a guest to her special water-closet. Conversely, I view it more as this facility is equipped and spatious enough to accomodate those who need it, but it does not exclude the rest of us. It's simply a... a "bathroom plus" of sorts. When one considers that there is no other bathroom on that floor of the library, I think it becomes especially clear. This is everyone's. Not just the handicap's. I would hope she doesn't get this upset at every restroom she visits in some state of messiness. If so, I can't imagine her ever leaving a bathroom at a mall (if she even goes to any), she could spend days waiting out the culprits for whoever that bastard was who turned the blow dryer upside down.

Done.