There was just one. I rolled up, tried the door, found it locked, and then I pulled back and began to wait. I knew that the person in the accessible toilet knew I was there because the handle had shook when I tried it. I counted that 67 people came and went from the toilets as I waited for the one that I could use.
I tried the door again, wanting to signal that it was what it was, urgent. The words were unclear but the yell was not. The second try had annoyed whoever was there. Finally when he came out, he was a tall, thin man in his 30s with no disability at all. Not even an invisible one. In the apology that tumbled out of his mouth he mentioned that the didn't have a disability he just liked the space and he rarely sees someone like me use them. I glared but didn't cry because I had to go so bad, I feared yellow tears.
Then he decides to help me by holding the door. This guy who had a lot of options had taken my only option and stayed in there while 67 other people had been and gone then left. I told him I could do it myself. He insisted. He was going to make up for his behaviour by inflicting me with guilt tinged help.
Not this time.
I told him I'd piss myself before I took his help.
"I didn't realize ..."
"Yes you did and you did it anyway now get out of my way."
Flustered, he left.
And I went in and peed.
That, in a nutshell, was my day.