“You look OK to me.”
He stood, towering over me, his big belly billowing from his shirt as he straightened up and lifted his chin, glaring down at me over folded arms.
I swallowed. Anxiety rushed through me. What am I going to do? I was desperate for the loo, and if he didn’t let me in, I was about to pee my pants!
“You look OK to me,” the bouncer said again, looking me up and down.
“Look,” I said firmly, getting frustrated but trying to keep my cool, “I just told you, I have a condition called multiple sclerosis. I’ve walked from the train station to this bar so I can write an article for the MS Society. I’m here with them for the Masta Ace gig [he was performing that night]. My legs are very weak from walking, and the regular toilets are down a load of stairs. Stairs I will struggle to walk down and not get back up again. I’m worried I’ll collapse. I need a wee. Please let me use the accessible toilet. I’ll be two seconds.”
“Nah, I don’t know, I mean, you look OK to me,” he snarked in his London accent.
I could not believe this was happening.
“Are you serious?” I exclaimed.
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