Sometimes, it's better not to comment

This morning after I got off the elliptical, I was in the locker room changing while a kid with DS was in cleaning the lockers. Didn't recognize him, but his name must have been Zachary, since the woman supervising him (possibly his mother) stood in the door of the men’s calling him repeatedly. When he finally answered her, she stood in the door and lectured him.

“Zachary, now you’re in trouble, because I called you five times and you chose not to answer.” I couldn’t very well argue with her logic. “If the building was on fire and I tried to get you to come out of there and you didn’t answer, we’d have a real problem, wouldn’t we?”

I had to bite my tongue.

Far be it from me to point out to her that if the building were on fire, the possibility of seeing a half-naked man in the midst of his post-workout ablutions really shouldn’t get in the way of her coming right in and dragging the kid out by his ear, if necessary.