Fuck You, Old Lady in the Wheelchair

9 p.m. Saturday, I enter the after hours ATM vestibule of my bank on 14th and 1st Ave. The only other soul there is a wheelchair-bound lady older than 60. She's not using an ATM but she seems to have an envelope in her hand, maybe making a night deposit. I don't know why I shut off my iPod because of her presence, but I do it.

I get my cash, my finger is a centimeter away from the play button on the iPod, I'm half a second away from strutting back down the street to Lyrics Born's "Callin' Out," and

"Can you push me out? I can't reach the door."

Wouldn't Jesus? "Sure."

I get behind her and notice chin hair and body odor that would make Grendel run for the hills, but of course Jesus wouldn't judge her for that.

Before we can leave, we need to gather the things she's conveniently left on a desk several inches out of her reach- newspaper, scarf, gloves, wool shawl.

"You want this empty styrofoam cup too?" though I should have known the answer is yes.

I start to push, but I push too fast for her liking.

Would Jesus' patience start to wear thin yet?

Moving her through the door proves difficult due to the bags of recyclables dangling from the sides of her chair. We make it out, but not before she spits out some exasperated "Watch it!"s.

Outside, I ask, "Are you OK?", meaning, "Can I go now?"

"Of course I'm not OK!", as if I had just cancelled our wedding.

"Well..."

"Can you hail me a taxi?", which she of course could never get into by herself. If it were just her odor that was repulsive, I'm sure Jesus would help her. But I'm not Jesus, and I hope he would forgive me for thinking that this lady was really a demon that gypsies warn their children about, and that if she didn't ask me for $20 in cab fare, she would probably try to loot it from my pocket while I hauled her ass into the back seat.

Fuck you, old lady in the wheelchair.

"Listen, I'm really sorry but I have to run right now."

"Yeah, fine."

I let go of her wheelchair. As I turn away, I think I see her start to roll down the sidewalk toward a parallel-parked car. I keep walking, and before I even try to listen for the smack of wheelchair and car, my finger is on the play button.