I remember feeling such a rush of shame for the man while watching all of this. He didn't even seem aware of what had happened, and I couldn't decide if that made it all the worse or was simply a blessing in disguise. I couldn't think of anything more horrible than being in a situation like that and my immediate thought was that death would be a far better fate than what I was witnessing in the room that day. That scene comes back to me now as I'm thinking about how in the years since, I've sort of stepped into his shoes. I'm standing in my own pool of proverbial urine and it's hard not to think to myself that death would be better than this sort of shameful existence.
You can always rationalize events and say that it's not a person's fault when illness or disease creates situations out of their control. The fact remains that it doesn't really matter, right? There's still piss all over the floor and the only thing that might be worse than to see the repugnance on the face of others is to feel the condescension of their pity. Really, I had expected nothing better of the world, but the fact that it would also hold true with some of the few friends I have is what really cut to the quick. You can't blame people for acting like people. In the same situation, you can't say for sure you'd act any differently. Still, it's hard when you hear them mouth the platitudes and know they lie.