The Stall

John didn’t want to get up. It was one of those mornings when everything felt heavy before the day even began. Not just because it was a Saturday, but because it was the Saturday after the national system crash. The update that broke everything. Computers, networks, and workflows are gone. And somehow, John already knew today was going to be weird.

He got out of bed anyway. Gave his wife a little morning sugar. Took a hot shower. Got dressed, kissed her goodbye, and headed out the door for work.

When he pulled into the parking lot, it hit him. Not a single car was there. Just his. He sat in the silence for a minute, scrolling his phone and trying to stall time. Maybe someone else would pull up. Maybe he was early. Or maybe... something was just off.

He grabbed his badge and breakfast. Let out a grunt as he stepped out of the car and made his way toward the building. The breeze pushed against him, and the geese in the distance were screaming like they had unfinished business. The kind of sound that makes you question every life choice.

He scanned his badge and walked in. The lights were still off, except for a small orange light blinking somewhere deeper inside. He stopped for a second. Checked his phone.

"Yeah... It's Saturday," he whispered to himself.

The building was empty. It made sense, but it still felt strange. He walked to his desk, dropped his things, and clocked in. His stomach growled immediately. He didn’t get a chance to hit the bathroom earlier, and now it was urgent.

He rushed to the restroom. The hallway felt too quiet. He pushed the bathroom door open and headed straight for the large stall in the corner. The one with space to breathe. He grabbed the sanitation supplies, cleaned up, and finally sat down. Relief.

Then, out of nowhere, the silence broke. A loud guitar riff blasted through the building.

Sweet Child O’ Mine.Of all songs, that one.

John sat there confused, staring at the floor like it had answers. He shook his head and tried to shake it off. But a few minutes later, the sound of the bathroom door opening snapped him out of it.

Footsteps. Shuffling. Getting closer.

He froze.

Someone was outside the stall, right at the door. No words. Just movement. The door handle jiggled.

John stayed quiet. Then, a loud knock.

Boom. Boom.

Still no voice. Just the sound of someone trying to open the door like they needed in.

“One moment, please,” he called out, voice shaky but trying to sound normal.

He finished up quickly, trying to stay calm, trying to move fast but clean. The door jiggled again. Harder this time. John unlocked the stall, ready to give someone a look for rushing him like that.

But the door wouldn't open all the way. It was stuck. He forced it open just enough to peek through. And there, right outside, was someone in a wheelchair.

John’s heart dropped. He realized he had taken the accessible stall. The only one with enough space for someone who needed it.

He apologized quickly and awkwardly, stepped out, washed his hands, and avoided eye contact. He was embarrassed. Completely thrown off. But something else was bothering him.

He didn’t recognize the person.

The building was supposed to be empty. No other cars. No one else was supposed to be there.

John dried his hands and walked out. He stood just outside the bathroom door, confused, replaying it all in his head. Why didn’t the person say anything? Why hadn’t he seen them before?

He turned around and pushed the bathroom door open again.

The lights were off. The stall was empty. No wheelchair. No person. Nothing.

He stood there for a second, letting that sink in. Then he said what anyone would say in that moment.

"Man, bump this. I'm working remotely."

He grabbed his stuff and walked out of the building.

Moral of the story: Don't use the handicap stall.Even if no one else is around...You never know who's waiting.