I was waiting for a meeting. Others were waiting for other meetings. 'Waiting rooms' are, therefore, well named. The woman overseeing all of us, greeting us when we arrived, having us take a seat, offering us something to drink, familiarizing us with the layout of the place and ushering us into the appropriate corridor at the appropriate time was a lovely, warm, woman gifted with generosity of spirit.
A young woman arrived, also in a wheelchair, with her staff. They were guided to a seat. Wonderfully this waiting room, unlike any I had been in before, anticipated people arriving with their own chair. Spaces were left such that chairs didn't have to be removed, people could just back in. The staff, after positioning the chair, sat down beside it. The receptionist, the woman I've described, obviously recognized the woman in the wheelchair and began to speak to her, offering her something cool to drink. The young staff, obviously not having been here before, spoke up, fairly loudly, saying 'She doesn't understand a word you are saying.' The receptionist turned to her and said:
'There isn't a soul in the world that doesn't understand the sound of respect.'