Wednesday, June 4, 2008

WELCOME TO THE MEN’S ROOM

It was December of 2004 that I began consistently using the men’s room. There wasn’t a deliberate decision that caused me to change my bathroom of choice. Instead of waiting until I felt certain of passing I just instinctually gravitated towards the men’s room one day, and I went with it. I don’t quite know what I expected to find behind that door. Men’s bathrooms were not completely unknown to me. As a defiant butch dyke I would enter when the line for the ladies room was too long, but during those visits I always felt like I was subversively crossing over into foreign territory. Now I was expected to suddenly feel comfortable enough to relieve myself.


My hand gently nudged the door open so I could peer around it to see if there was anyone behind it. Finding no one, I lowered my head, gathered my resolve, awkwardly folded my arms to hide my chest and pushed the door fully open. I crossed the threshold and, without looking right or left, rushed to the nearest stall. Once the door was locked behind me I realized I wasn’t quite sure what to do. Should I life the seat? The sound seemed important then how would I go to the bathroom? Peeing down my leg was no way to end my first visit here. I stared at the toilet for a long time, weighing my options when I finally decided it would be better to sit, but take a shit as well in order to save face. The toilet flushed and I waited. When I was sure there was no one else in the bathroom I slowly opened the door. Immediately fearing someone would enter, I bolted out of the stall, hurriedly ran my hands under the faucet and slid into the booth across from my parents.



Without having said a word about this groundbreaking ordeal my mom told me the waitress had come. “I told her our daughter will be joining us before it dawned on me that you were probably in the men’s room.“
The stress didn‘t end with this initial success, but it gradually became less intense. Eventually I could use a busy bathroom and at least act like I belonged even if I didn’t feel like it. I could managed to walk past someone using a urinal and not step away in fear of invading their personal space. This singular bodily function challenged me to reinforce my gender every time I had to go. People would realize the rumors were true when they passed me coming out of the men’s room. As I became more comfortable, they became more comfortable or at least stopped looking so confused. Gradually I was able just walk in, take care of business, and leave. Most days it even felt natural, routine. Still, some days it felt like the biggest, scariest decision ever. These were the days that I was sure someone would stare, ask me to leave, treat me like I didn’t belong like I couldn‘t possibly be a man.



On those days I just couldn’t handle the added stress of my bladder forcing me to face everything that was going on in my life. One day I didn’t want to make this major decision, I just wanted to pee. Mentally I knew no one would say anything. I had been using the same men’s bathroom for weeks without so much as an odd look, much less an incident, but I longed for the safety of being back in familiar territory, to once again feel like a butch dyke in the lady’s room. The minute I opened the door I knew it was a mistake. The old woman at the sink looked at me in shock. A little girl pointed and whispered to her mother. I could have turned around, apologized, said I got the wrong bathroom, but it wasn‘t wrong. It just wasn‘t right. I forged ahead to the stall in front of me and performed the same act I had when I first used the men’s room. I waited for the coast to clear, ran my hands under cold water and walked out the door as quickly as possible. It was then that I realized how foreign the lady’s room had become, that I had crossed that point of no return. Women chatted while they went to the bathroom. They waited around for their friends and fixed their hair. They performed rituals and routines that I had never been a part of. I suddenly had a longing for the silent peeing and flushing of the men’s room. That was, after all, what I was used to.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

wow again...u are a brilliant writer. Keep writing and keep sharing please.--Dolores