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By Andy Griffiths
I’m in the supermarket trying to remember what groceries Mom wanted me to pick up, but I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything. I’m bursting. And I don’t mean bursting. I mean BURSTING!
I’ve got to find a toilet. Fast. Then I can come back and think about the shopping with a clear head. Or not so much a clear head as an empty bladder.
I haven’t got a second to lose. I run down the aisle and skid around the corner.
Straight into an old guy with a walker. He staggers forward and crashes into a stack of cans. They go rolling all over the floor. The old man is lying in the middle of them.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” he says. “Help me up!”
I reach down, take hold of his hand, and pull him to his feet. Luckily, he’s not very heavy. I stand his walker up for him. He’s muttering words I don’t understand.
The store manager appears. I can tell he’s the store manager because his pants are too tight. Plus he’s wearing a badge that says STORE MANAGER.
“What happened?” he says.
“This silly young boy knocked me over. It wouldn’t have happened in my day. When I was young, we respected our elders.”
“It was an accident!” I say.
“Were you running?” says the store manager.
“Yes,” I say, “but I’m…”
“There’s no excuse,” he says. “I think you owe this gentleman an apology. Then you can pick up all the cans.”
“But I’m bursting!”
“You should have thought about that before you started knocking people over and destroying my displays,” he says.