The custodian checked my lamp before he checked my name.
"Someone brought one without oil last week," he said.
"For an inspection?"
"He thought the building would provide light."
I looked past him at the bright public entrance.
"It usually does."
"Then you're both fortunate that I asked."
He tested the shutter, handed the lamp back, and compared my approval with his list. The current route sheet lay on top. My medical restrictions were clipped beneath it.
He read those too.
His finger stopped at the line about the hand. He asked whether I could carry the lamp without the weight pulling on the healing arm.
"With the left."
"And on the steps?"
"I'll stop if I need to change how I'm carrying it."
He nodded and put the conditions back beneath the route sheet. There would be no reason to keep walking while I adjusted the bag or the light. The visit had been scheduled to compare a location. Nobody had promised it would finish faster if I moved like a man with two sound arms.
