My bladder was damn near ready to burst by the time that woman finally came out of the wheelchair accessible stall. 

"Oh I'm sorry.." she says guiltily. She exits by painfully shuffling on the balls of her feet that are perched at a harrowing 85 degree angle, five inches from the floor. This sends my otherwise forgiving demeanor somewhere far out into space. 

"It's fine" I mutter. 

The second she clears enough space for me to swoop in I make the dive into the stall. She stands by the stall door, one hand holding it open and the other struggling with a run in her pantyhose. 

"I got it, thanks." One foot tilts upwards to bring the stall door shut and my hand reaches up to slide the bolt into place - jiggling it just enough to make sure that it is secure. 

At this point the urgency has almost reached that point of no return. I have got to go, right now. 

The rest of my motions are thanks to muscle memory automation: angle the wheelchair just right, unzip my fly, jeans down, transfer over, and aaahhh the release is cathartic. But all of that is quickly dashed when I see your endlessly fluffy self smirking all the way over there. 

And it isn't until that point that I realize I've stumbled into someone else's tense family reunion I wasn't even invited to. Oops. 

There are your relatives: Cousin Grab Bar, Grandma Dispenser, Great Aunt Toilet, your hipster younger brother Automatic Flush, your awkward step-sister Feminine Product-Disposal, and of course the head-of-household your mother Baby Changing-Area. Everyone is looking at me as if I were the one who forced your dad Mr. Urinal to leave your mother high and dry; and right when I burst into the scene you were all talking about what a heartless home-wrecker I am. 

I'm sorry to break the news to you but it wasn't me. 

I just came to do what I need to do, then I'll be out of your way and out of your family business. But first you've got to let me take care of my business. You see, that's what you don't understand since you never leave these four walls - this is how the world works outside of a stall. 

Quite frankly ignoring me by turning to face the other way is just childish. It's time you grew up and learned to play by the rules. For instance Cousin Grab Bar is exactly 42inches long and about a foot from the rear wall. Great Aunt Toilet is an appropriate 17inches tall. Even your mother must abide by regulations that limit her maternal reach as a protruding object! What makes you so darned special that you are allowed to hang a lofty 5ft away and 2ft above my head? Hate to dole you out a roll of less-than-soft reality, but at the end of the day you are flushed down the drain! And then you are replaced without a second thought to whatever fond memories you may have had with your family. 

They tell me that your time in this life is measured by your deeds and not by your years. So come on already, let me be your opportunity to do a good deed!
No? Fine. You're a stubborn one. I'll get up because your Cousin Grab Bar will lend me a hand, stand on the foot rests of my wheelchair, reach over and snag you anyway. Oh, I should mention that this next part might hurt a bit: 

I'm going to pull you by your ear, drag you out and wrap you around Cousin Grab Bar a few times. Then I'm going sit back down and do what I first came here to do and leave you embracing your Cousin. You think you're stubborn? Please, I invented that concept! You will learn to be purposeful, to love your family, and to practice doing good deeds if it's the last thing I do!

Tough lovingly yours,

Sandy