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On a recent visit to the National Gallery of Art, I made a pit stop at the mezzanine bathroom. Only two people stood ahead of me in line, but I still had a long wait: there were just two bathrooms and both were occupied. By the time I finished, the other bathroom was still occupied. My fellow waiters confirmed that no one had come in or out for a long time, at least fifteen minutes. I knocked on the door and got a grunt in response. A man made some noise about being fine, but his slurred sing-song voice sounded far from “OK” and more like really high or really sick. I was concerned enough to mention the matter to a guard, who told me checking on sick folks in the bathroom was “not in my job description.” I mentioned it to another member of the museum staff, who, horrified, sent someone to check in on the situation right away. I never noticed EMTs running through the galleries, so I was probably just being a worry-wort. But still. The museum guards must be pretty disgruntled to refuse to see if the back up in the bathroom line is caused by a dying grandpa.