The Guessing Game: Bathroom Edition!
Oh, God, how I hate the guessing game. Which bathroom do I use today? Do I look more like a dude or a chick? What do I have to do to make everyone else more comfortable with their gender stereotypes and crappy expectations?
It is really, very tiring. I doubt any cisgender people can relate as deeply to this subject as they may wish to. The difficulty with which we have to live our daily lives is already high enough- it just plain sucks that we have to deal with other people’s B.S. too.
Imagine going into your favorite restaurant. You’re sitting down, having a nice meal, and you’re genuinely enjoying the ambiance of the place. Then you notice something- the wait-staff is acting rather peculiar. It’s probably nothing, you think, but you know where this is headed. Out of the corner of your vision you see them whispering in a small, huddled group, eyes darting suspiciously to you, then back to the matter at hand. You try not to think about it, you’re sure it will work out for the best, and you keep your focus on the menu. Over the murmurs of activity, you observe the patrons next to you shift uncomfortably in their seats. Suddenly, some words of theirs pass your ear - “boy or girl?”
And so starts the feeling in your gut. You’re making others uncomfortable, and you know it. Perhaps you’re angry, perhaps you’re ashamed, or maybe you actually don’t give a damn. In all honesty, you know that it isn’t your fault and they just have to deal, but somehow the giggles of other customers or employees do redden your cheeks a bit. Finally, your waiter approaches.
If you’re lucky, if it’s a good day, if you’re stealth, they use the correct pronouns. If they’re smart, they ask your name to get some semblance of an idea what the hell you are. At least that one is polite enough to try without directly embarrassing themselves or you. Sometimes, though, you’re stuck with the person who says the wrong thing- and, hell, you don’t want to hurt the poor kid or be bombarded with evil glares …so you keep quiet. Nevertheless, this is life, so you deal with it…, or you correct them, but everyone still has their suspicions, because what’s in your pants is totally their business.
Then comes the dreaded moment that I hate; using the restroom. Even though you drank very little, and you’re not stuffed, you still have to go, and by “have to” I mean have to. So, you get up. You ask the waiter where the restroom is.
“Oh, down that hallway, second door on the right”, she says. You do really hope this is the right one. Lo and behold, it is not. Now, you have a couple of options. The waiter is staring at you, and you’re unsure, but hesitating to use a restroom is weird as hell and you know that. You use this one, turn around and use the correct one, or hope that there’s a family restroom that you’re just not seeing. Occasionally there might be a scapegoat, like a water-fountain, but damn, you really have to go.
So herein lay the guessing game; asking yourself what you look more like, how others will react, hoping for the best, and longing for the day that this won’t be a problem. Your choice is made and hopefully it’s the “right” one. However, there never is a right choice. No one ever prepared you for this shit when you were in school. There was no “How to Use the Restroom if You’re Not Cisgender 101.” There were no mentors to tell you what to do, and there definitely isn’t a mirror between the two doors that magically tells you which one to use so that you won’t be yelled at or beat up.
What is more disappointing is that you know it should not matter. Your safety should not be based on other people’s shitty ideas of what gender is. You should not have to worry for your well-being when you use the fucking bathroom- you just want to go, damnit! And you know that, but you have absolutely no control over it, so you either brave the risk or play it safe, but you shouldn’t have to. No one should. Maybe you complain online the next day, but it’s truly hard to do that because here come the “Get the fuck over it” and “you don’t deserve special rights” and “you’re a tranny who doesn’t deserve life” crowds. Great, now you’re a pariah, assuming you weren’t already. Congratulations! Somehow, by using the fucking bathroom, you’ve become the bane of someone else’s existence. Sorry, there’s no medal, just the feeling of utter disappointment and Dysphoria that is already an innate part of a transgender person’s life. And it sucks, and you feel bad, and everyone else is either mad or confused. All because we had to play the guessing game. All because people care excessively much about what is between the legs. Good- Great! Fantastic. Don’t we all just feel like winners?
I fucking hate the guessing game...
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