That time someone helped me instead of judging me

It was last winter. John was working in Georgia for a few days, and I was doing that thing I do sometimes where I insisted on trying to do things that can be a little difficult to do with one adult and two children because, damn it, I got this.

Horatio needed a better winter coat and both kids needed gloves or mittens. I took all three of us to a thrift store to see if we could find any of these items for cheap, and did see a pretty good looking toddler coat. While I was looking for mittens, Virginia announced that she needed to use the bathroom.

I looked around the edges of the store, and did not see a sign for restrooms. Then I asked at the checkout, "Do you have a bathroom we could use?" I knew there had to be a staff bathroom at the very least, and maybe they would take pity on me.

"It's out of toilet paper."

I whispered with Virginia about what kind of business she had to do and was about to argue that we could do without toilet paper if necessary, when the woman said. "Why don't you just go to Whole Foods?"

Whole Foods was a couple of stores down the shopping center and did have a very nice bathroom. I put down the coat and hustled the children out. We marched across the front of Whole Foods, straight for the bathroom. We walked into the Ladies' and towards the open handicapped stall, where Virginia froze in the doorway. It was an automatic flush toilet.

Virginia does not like automatic flush toilets. They are loud, and sometimes flush unexpectedly because the sensor is made for adult-sized people. We had had some difficulties with this before, but on this particular night, Virginia flat out refused to use the toilet. My patience was wearing a little thin and I was prepared to put her on the stupid toilet with or without her help, when a young woman entered the bathroom.

She didn't have any children with her. It is possible she was a mother, but she struck me as more of a college student who maybe nannys. She saw what was happening, to my great embarrassment, and smiling calmly said, "You can tie toilet paper over the sensor."

I thanked her sheepishly, locked the door, and covered the sensor with toilet paper. After I convinced Virginia that the toilet couldn't see her anymore, and wouldn't flush, she agreed to use it. Then we went back to the thrift store and bought the coat. And we bought new, overpriced mittens, at another shop.

As you might guess, we have to tie toilet paper around automatic flush sensors all the time now. Virginia doesn't get upset about using them anymore. And I remember that one time, when I was not at my best, someone understood and was kind.