The City Council here had a policy discussion on gay rights last month and much of the ensuing kerfuffle centered around bathrooms and whether or not an individual had the right to use the bathroom of one’s sexual identification rather than the bathroom of one’s genitalia. Eventually, they took bathrooms out of the discussion. . . then decided to vote down the whole proposal anyway.
I’m perplexed as to why a person chooses to vote against someone solely because of their sexual orientation. I’m for putting equality on the front burner and leaving sex to simmer in private on a back burner. My gaydar antenna is still in the original wrappings. I don’t care whose team a person plays on–just make the rules fair for everyone.
As for the bathroom issue, I admit that I’d be taken aback if Bruce Jenner walked into the Cracker Barrel bathroom right behind me, but at the same time, I don’t think someone should have to drop their drawers to prove where they’re allowed to pee. Just make sure the bathroom is clean.
As I’ve mentioned in other posts, my Dearly Beloved and I enjoy going places together, but we have different ideas about the road trip. While I’m for stopping at interesting places (okay, they usually involve shopping) along the way, he points a laser beam to his destination and would prefer not to stop for anything. I like to wait and buy gas in South Carolina, where it’s about 20 cents a gallon cheaper. He fills the tank here the day before we leave and it’s fine with him if we reach our destination on fumes.
He does, however, know that bathroom stops trump everything. In fact, he even asks me, “Do you need to go to the bathroom or should I keep going?” because parts of our trips often go through No-Bathrooms Land.
During a pit stop on a trip a couple of months ago, Dearly Beloved pumped gas at one of those Gas/Fast Food/Junk stations along I-85 while I went inside to use the ladies room. I walked in and headed into a stall like I always do, used the toilet, and walked out.
It was like I’d entered The Twilight Zone. Although I don’t recall anyone else being in there when I went in, there were FOUR MEN using urinals went I walked out. I was flabbergasted, but it was minimal compared with the stunned expression on their faces. They froze.
How had I managed to overlook the Men’s Room sign on the door and the urinals on the wall on my way in? If I could miss all that, might I have been so intent on my mission that I overlooked a guy or two standing around? For all I know, Bruce Jenner might have been in there.
I didn’t look up and I certainly didn’t look down. Nothing for me to do except say, “Pardon me!” and get the hell out of there. I didn’t even stop to wash my hands.
So. . . I’m not about to attempt to solve the problem of who gets to use which bathroom, but other people have much interest. I understand that some states are working on laws to ban transgender folks from using the bathroom of the sex they identify with. Might I have been arrested for an Oops?
I did learn one thing from the experience: If unisex bathrooms ever become commonplace. . . as long as they’re clean, I may not even notice.