Dividing lines

 

This door locks.

Here's the thing: 

For most of the pandemic, all customers at my local coffee house have used the men's/handicapped washroom, which has one toilet with the main door to the room locking. The ladies' room, which is down the corridor and around the corner, was closed for over a year, and only re-opened a few months ago. This has a change table (rather sexist, I guess, because dads change diapers too), and two cubicles with simple locks. The main door to that room is, of course, unlocked.

Ever since the ladies' room re-opened, I have made a point to choose it, should the need arise, reasoning that I shouldn't use the washroom needed by the fellas and those who need the room to physically maneuver.

One morning, getting ready to leave, I head up the corridor past a man waiting for the locked washroom.  I nod pleasantly to him as I pass the sign posted right next to that door.  It's about eight inches by ten inches, and at eye-level.

I turn the corner, and enter the unlocked room with the two cubicles and a fold-into-the-wall change-table. The door also bears a sign.

In the booth, I hear someone enter the neighbouring booth a few seconds after my arrival. I see shoes under the space below the dividing wall. 

 Nothing unusual about that. 

 Except. 

 They're facing the wrong way.

I leave my cubicle, wash my hands, and while doing so, the fellow I passed in the hall emerges from the other booth.

I give him a startled look over my mask, and say calmly:  "Did you know this is the women's washroom?"

"No, I didn't."

"There's a sign on the door."

"I didn't see it; I'm sorry."  He exits hastily without washing his hands, passing the other sign which he also evidently didn't see, and probably doesn't notice now.

I'm a little taken aback that he clearly followed me into the washroom, but I'm not frightened or offended.  It's interesting how perceptions have shifted over the pandemic.  Not long ago, while waiting for my coffee, I overheard two younger guys waiting for the locked washroom.  One told the other, "There's one around the corner."

"That's the women's washroom," I interjected matter-of-factly, but not belligerently.  I merely wanted to save some embarrassment.  However, I find when women are matter-of-fact, it's interpreted as belligerent.  

The fellow who exited hastily moments ago is at his table with his female companion when I return, probably relating his adventure.  He catches my eye, and looks away.

I pack up my stuff and climb the hill ruminating about JK Rowling, whose stance on women-only areas such as washrooms and change-rooms is getting her in such trouble with the trans community.

In a recent online discussion on one of the social platforms, one woman gave the most sensible comment I'd heard on the topic.

"If I were a man intent on attacking women in a washroom," she said, "I wouldn't dress as a woman; I'd simply carry a mop."

I mentioned my washroom incident to elder daughter in London on our weekly Skype call.  To my surprise, she seemed puzzled that I should be uncomfortable with a male stranger in a neighbouring bathroom cubicle.  

Am I being odd? I have nipped in to a designated men's washroom when in a hurry, but never one that takes more than one person, and certainly never with a man in there. Am I really being outlandish?  Is it decades of antiquated conditioning?  As someone who has spent a great deal of time in the line-up for the women's washroom, I don't think it's particularly equitable to let the guys in. 

And just for the record, I'm fine sharing the washroom with trans women. (Which way do their feet face?)