Paul_in_Maryland
Flashlight Enthusiast
This week, I was awaiting the subway, when I noticed a girl, about 4 years old, in obvious distress. She was dancing around and bending over, clutching her privates. "Miss," I said to her mother, "your daughter has to pee."
"I know," she replied, "but I'm not sure whether this station has a bathroom she can use." Welcome to the Washington, DC Metro system, where each station's "public" unisex bathroom (one person at a time) is hidden at the end of an unmarked, locked corridor. Ask to use it, and you might well challenged, "Is it an emergency?" And if it's out of order, they won't let you use the employee restroom.
"See this flashlight?" I said to the mother, turning on my G&P G60 incan with 3.7V lamp. "I'm gonna go upstairs and ask if they have a bathroom. If the answer is Yes, I'll come to the balcony and shine the light at you."
So up the escalator I began. As luck would have it (mixed luck, as we shall see), a Metro employee--a 55-ish man--was right ahead of me. "Sir," I said urgently, "Is there a bathroom?"
"Of course," he said. With that, I turned around, turned on my G60, and began waving it toward the crowd below.
I was so intent on signaling that I forgot I was on a moving escalator. After 5 seconds, I suddenly reached the top. Still facing backward, I stumbled, whirled around as I lost my balance, and whacked the Metro man in the glasses with my light. (He had been standing at the top.)
The guy was livid. "THIS is why you need to mind your business!" he snapped.
I felt sheepish and apologized. At the same time, I felt that he shouldn't have been standing where people get off; Metro posters call such persons "escalumps." And I felt that such anger should be reserved for riders who are immersed in their own needs--say, tying a shoelace. "Sir, I was just trying to help a little girl in distress." But he was still seething as he removed his glasses to rub his eyes and face.
About 40 seconds later, the girl and her mom were racing through the turnstile. I heard the girl shout, "I won't make it!" Her mom replied, "Yes, you will."
As I boarded the train, I felt that perhaps I should have given the worker my business card in case he was truly injured. Or maybe handed him a twenty as compensation. But I feared that the his demand for compensation might get out of hand.
"I know," she replied, "but I'm not sure whether this station has a bathroom she can use." Welcome to the Washington, DC Metro system, where each station's "public" unisex bathroom (one person at a time) is hidden at the end of an unmarked, locked corridor. Ask to use it, and you might well challenged, "Is it an emergency?" And if it's out of order, they won't let you use the employee restroom.
"See this flashlight?" I said to the mother, turning on my G&P G60 incan with 3.7V lamp. "I'm gonna go upstairs and ask if they have a bathroom. If the answer is Yes, I'll come to the balcony and shine the light at you."
So up the escalator I began. As luck would have it (mixed luck, as we shall see), a Metro employee--a 55-ish man--was right ahead of me. "Sir," I said urgently, "Is there a bathroom?"
"Of course," he said. With that, I turned around, turned on my G60, and began waving it toward the crowd below.
I was so intent on signaling that I forgot I was on a moving escalator. After 5 seconds, I suddenly reached the top. Still facing backward, I stumbled, whirled around as I lost my balance, and whacked the Metro man in the glasses with my light. (He had been standing at the top.)
The guy was livid. "THIS is why you need to mind your business!" he snapped.
I felt sheepish and apologized. At the same time, I felt that he shouldn't have been standing where people get off; Metro posters call such persons "escalumps." And I felt that such anger should be reserved for riders who are immersed in their own needs--say, tying a shoelace. "Sir, I was just trying to help a little girl in distress." But he was still seething as he removed his glasses to rub his eyes and face.
About 40 seconds later, the girl and her mom were racing through the turnstile. I heard the girl shout, "I won't make it!" Her mom replied, "Yes, you will."
As I boarded the train, I felt that perhaps I should have given the worker my business card in case he was truly injured. Or maybe handed him a twenty as compensation. But I feared that the his demand for compensation might get out of hand.
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