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6,789: Gender-Neutral Restrooms
President Obama has 250 days left in office. His goal is to come up with something new every day. Thus, this.
I can't help but think that the president is messing with us. When did gender-neutral bathrooms become a thing?
I didn't expect to be writing about bathroom habits, but here I am. I didn't start this.
I'm no philosopher; no great thinker. What I am, though, is practical. So let's talk about bathrooms. There's an old adage that men are messier than women. False! At my workplace, one of the most common topics of discourse among my cohorts is the sad, foul state of the women's restroom. And the general consensus is that (some) women are pigs. I'm not going to repeat our complaints here, but use your imagination.
On the other hand, I've had occasion to visit a men's restroom. Okay, long story short...I was helping a co-worker get made up for his surprise appearance as President Clinton. (I used to actually work in a fun office.) The room was pristine! I half expected an attendant to be standing at the door handing out hot towels. I gazed around the tiled space in awe. Does anybody use this room?
So, you gals who now think it's going to be a fun romp to patronize the ladies room, well, welcome to my life.
And here's another thing about women: we scare easily. I imagine that men, when they hear a strange noise at five a.m. while walking their dog through the pitch-black neighborhood mentally tie on their scientist hat and reason out the cause of the eerie creaking sound. Women? We stop, listen for the clip of footsteps somewhere behind us, just far enough behind so we won't see them; we turn around, pull up on the leash as if our tiny French ragamuffin will somehow morph into a pit bull and give her life savagely defending ours. Our eyes strain the darkness for the nearest safe haven. The bus stop? No, that's just where he wants us to go! There we'll be trapped inside a plexiglass fingerprint-smudged sarcophagus! Can we make a run for our front door? No, Sweetie Pie has to stop to sniff a blade of grass! Eventually we tell ourselves to be reasonable. We force our breath to slow. Then we notice the lump of crackled leaves butting against one another, stirred by the early morning breeze, on the corner. Nevertheless, we're still on guard! The leaves could be a subterfuge.
When I take my morning walk during my Federally-mandated work break, which may or may not happen because laws are, after all, malleable, when I reach the walking trail, if I sense someone behind me, I'm not going down that trail. I will stop, pretend to do something like tie my shoe, wait for the guy to pass by - waaay by, so I can keep my eye on him, and then, if he looks semi-okay, I'll continue down the path...behind him. Women are cautious, and frankly, we need to be. Maybe a bit paranoid at times, but it's better to be safe...
What I'm getting at is, if I exit the bathroom stall and encounter a transgender male primping at the sink (and trust me, we know) it'll scare me. Sorry. But it will. I'm not going to scream (that only actually happens in horror flicks), but my fight-or-flight instinct will tense my muscles and probably cause me to (nonchalantly) hug the wall on my way toward the exit door. It's nothing personal and nothing that can be controlled.
And then I will march down to HR. See, I think I still have rights, too. And I've heard that if one uses the phrase, "I don't feel safe", that trumps your right to go potty in my space.
Trust me, fellas/gals, you really will prefer the men's room. Really. I've seen it; I know. And then life can be pretty dandy for both of us. And you, unlike me, won't have horror tales of unspeakable bathroom atrocities to email your coworkers about.
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