Transgender Bathroom Rumors
From the "The Huffington Post" comes a post on a subject near and not so dear to me...restroom priviledges. As any accomplished transgender person knows , the whole affair of simply going to the bathroom can turn into a major event.
This perspective comes from a trans man:
"Believe it or not, I am a guy who likes to leave my house from time to time. Occasionally I'll be out, you know, people-watching in the local park, shopping downtown, or cruising around and making frequent stops at the tiny indie cafe in my gentrifying Brooklyn neighborhood, inhaling pints of coffee on the hour. Sometimes I'll even drink water. Eventually the time comes when my bladder has successfully been filled and I'll have to, you know, empty it. I'll find the nearest public restroom and use it. As long as there's a stall with a door, of course.
As a "transitioned" transsexual man, it's easy for me. Again, as long as there is a stall involved. I can't stress that enough. This man needs a stall. Because he sits to pee. Because he still has a vagina.
Now, as an adult, using public men's rooms has gone from a newfound glory to an inspiration for feelings of constant paranoia. It doesn't matter where I am -- it could be at the SoHo Bloomingdale's bathroom or at a truck stop in middle America -- there is still that sense of dread. I'm comfortable with the "plumbing" I was born with and don't want to change it, and I choose to not use a "stand-to-pee" contraption, but the flip side to that is I can't use a urinal and have to use a stall. Many times there is just one lone stall and the door has been ripped off, or it's out of order. Sometimes I have to visit three fast-food places just to find a bathroom with a working stall. Even then, when I'm halfway there, comfortable in the stall and ready to let the urine fly, I am convinced that the sound of the stream hitting the toilet bowl water sounds drastically different from the sound of pee exiting a penis and hitting the toilet water, and that the bathroom police await my exit so that they can tell me I'm in the wrong place and to tell me that they know my body is different from theirs, that they know my past and what's in my pants. And that it actually matters."
I've written several times of the trials of using the women's room and yes I've been told not too by one manager and even had the cops called on me once...for just going to the bathroom.
I know the situation is not going away. In fact the restroom is the only paranoia I'm feeling about my upcoming exciting "Witches Ball" evening.
I really feel out of place in the men's room (obviously) and just don't want to compromise my ideals.
I too worry about the sound of my pee hitting the bowl. Does the woman in the next stall over notice?
So I won't compromise my ideals and look like a total fool using the wrong restroom...the man's.
The feeling of relief I have each time I'm able to use the proper restroom is two fold. The first is obvious. I had to go! The second is less obvious. The bathroom police weren't summoned.
This perspective comes from a trans man:
"Believe it or not, I am a guy who likes to leave my house from time to time. Occasionally I'll be out, you know, people-watching in the local park, shopping downtown, or cruising around and making frequent stops at the tiny indie cafe in my gentrifying Brooklyn neighborhood, inhaling pints of coffee on the hour. Sometimes I'll even drink water. Eventually the time comes when my bladder has successfully been filled and I'll have to, you know, empty it. I'll find the nearest public restroom and use it. As long as there's a stall with a door, of course.
As a "transitioned" transsexual man, it's easy for me. Again, as long as there is a stall involved. I can't stress that enough. This man needs a stall. Because he sits to pee. Because he still has a vagina.
Now, as an adult, using public men's rooms has gone from a newfound glory to an inspiration for feelings of constant paranoia. It doesn't matter where I am -- it could be at the SoHo Bloomingdale's bathroom or at a truck stop in middle America -- there is still that sense of dread. I'm comfortable with the "plumbing" I was born with and don't want to change it, and I choose to not use a "stand-to-pee" contraption, but the flip side to that is I can't use a urinal and have to use a stall. Many times there is just one lone stall and the door has been ripped off, or it's out of order. Sometimes I have to visit three fast-food places just to find a bathroom with a working stall. Even then, when I'm halfway there, comfortable in the stall and ready to let the urine fly, I am convinced that the sound of the stream hitting the toilet bowl water sounds drastically different from the sound of pee exiting a penis and hitting the toilet water, and that the bathroom police await my exit so that they can tell me I'm in the wrong place and to tell me that they know my body is different from theirs, that they know my past and what's in my pants. And that it actually matters."
I've written several times of the trials of using the women's room and yes I've been told not too by one manager and even had the cops called on me once...for just going to the bathroom.
I know the situation is not going away. In fact the restroom is the only paranoia I'm feeling about my upcoming exciting "Witches Ball" evening.
I really feel out of place in the men's room (obviously) and just don't want to compromise my ideals.
I too worry about the sound of my pee hitting the bowl. Does the woman in the next stall over notice?
So I won't compromise my ideals and look like a total fool using the wrong restroom...the man's.
The feeling of relief I have each time I'm able to use the proper restroom is two fold. The first is obvious. I had to go! The second is less obvious. The bathroom police weren't summoned.
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