Stalling

The company has left, the trip to the zoo is over, and now it's time to write again.

Today's topic: Handicapped restrooms. Now, I don't usually talk about bathroom stuff, but this story is too funny and makes too much of a point to be overlooked.

So the other day, we were at Target buying more Magic Erasers*, and I had to use the restroom before we left. We paid for everything and made our way into the lovely Target restroom.

At the time, my wonderful 2-year-old was buckled securely into the cart--a necessary measure if you know my 2-year-old. Or if you know any 2-year-old. So we make it into the restroom, and of course, I head for the roomy handicapped stall since there's no way I'm going to take E out of the cart and let her run free in the bathroom.

To my dismay, it was occupied. Now, I understand that handicapped people obviously have first priority here. Moms with strollers or child-laden carts are a distant, but necessary second. But through my powers of deductive reasoning, I determined this occupant wasn't in a wheel chair, nor did she have a walker or crutches or anything else. Doesn't necessarily mean that she didn't need a handicapped restroom, but Target has another stall with all the features of a handicapped stall that just isn't as big.

But I needed THAT one. So I waited. And waited. And waited. I thought about getting E out of the cart and taking her in with me unfettered when an image popped into my head of her squeezing her way under the door of the stall and running out into the store while I'm...you get the idea. So I waited. And waited some more.

Finally, when I was at my exploding point (both emotionally and physically), I pulled E out of the cart, left it there to block 3 other empty stalls, and squeezed into the other handicapped stall so at least I had a little more room.

As I'm sitting there, E starts putting her hands on everything. It's "E, don't touch that" and "E, that's gross." And then, amidst my cries of "E, no, no, no!" she does something terrible. She undoes the latch on the door.

Now, if you remember correctly, I had chosen the smaller, albeit roomier handicapped stall. And if you know anything about handicapped stalls, you'll remember the doors swing outward. Fairly quickly.

So here I am, E starting to take off out the door, sitting there incapacitated, with a door wide open to the restroom and its inhabitants. Somehow I managed to get it closed before E escaped. And by this time, the woman who had taken her time in the stall next to us was done and gone, no idea the trouble that she had caused.

Now, like I said, if you need to use the handicapped restroom, by all means, it's yours. But if you don't have a physical need, and you don't push around a child-yielding device with four wheels (or three, I guess), then please, please please, think of us poor moms juggling diaper bags, strollers, and yes, children who just need a little bathroom break and please, find your way to another stall.

The same goes for dressing rooms.



*Disclaimer: I did not actually buy Magic Erasers on this visit. This statement was just a little comedic aside and is what one might call "creative liberty." But my overactive conscience is at work. I'm a horrible liar.