Volume One of Wyatt’s Lascivious Lavatory Ladventures!
I’ve been stuck in the literally uncomfortable position of having to use a women’s bathroom at a Starbucks twice today.
I have nothing against women’s bathrooms. I’m used to them. My protective mother took me into them until I was probably about 12.
Spoiler alert: they’re not necessarily cleaner or more comfortable than your average comparable men’s restroom. So guys—you ain’t missing out on much. Really nice department stores have couches in them though, and fuck that shit, because I want a place in my-gendered bathroom where I can sit without my buttocks touching a latrine.
Back to today.
Starbucks, or at least most of the ones I frequent, have this awful habit of having separately-gendered restrooms. While I have nothing against this on its face—most of these represent the double-sided comfort room conundrum of evil: the dreaded single-gendered single-use restroom.
What does this mean?
Me, doing the potty dance waiting for the one-holer men’s room at Starbucks to be rendered vacant by the guy who is probably evacuating an aircraft carrier’s worth of shit.
I’m left with the decision every man, fake woman, and tranny has faced at many points in their life: should I just use the women’s room?
The answer is frequently: yes.
And so it was today. I furtively glanced left, then right, then left again, then darted into the restroom with the beskirted sign on the door.
It was glorious. Golden shower enthusiasts would have written paeans to the stream of relief I triumphantly emptied forth.
Without washing my hands (that’s for Volume Two) I exited the restroom, contented and successful.
But 12 hours later, I was faced with the same challenge.
This one was more complex: multi-stall restroom, all occupied by homeless dudes.
I started to get that feeling that even if one finished, I really wouldn’t want to use that stall or station anyway.
I did the left-right-left again. It’s 4AM. Women’s restroom is right there. Nobody can see.
And as soon as I reached the doorhandle, BAM.
Caught.
I stared like a deer in Freightliner lights.
The female barista said, “I caughtchoo!”
I did the full-bladder-back-and-forth and gesturmumbled towards the clearly occupied men’s room.
She repeated again, “I caughtchoo!”, like I was the legendary Pokemon of her childhood that was always a step ahead of her. Judging by her figure, a Snorlax could be a step ahead of her, but I digress.
She went on: “but that’s okay. Just remember to knock.”
There were approximately one women at Starbucks at this hour and I asked her to watch my stuff, so unless some bitch was giving birth in there, I’m pretty sure it was unoccupied.
Blobarella kindly let me in and I greedily bumrushed forward, feeling that oh-so-sweet-relief of half-a-day prior.
Clearly, this is one of the major unaddressed problems of our time, maybe second to Iran getting a nuclear weapon, but definitely up there.
As President, I will mandate that all new bathrooms be unisex and individual. Think this is radical? George Bush Sr. pushed for and signed the Americans with Disabilities Act, which mandated that one stall in the bathroom be approximately the size of a well-appointed Buick. If he can grow each bathroom by 87%, then I sure as hell can divide them up and de-gender them. The transgendered will love this and hopefully overlook my disparaging comments about their tucking-under kind despite my delight for their twisted humor. This will end the problem of having to hear a stranger grunt one out like they’re elbowcrawling through a trench in ‘Nam. And it will decimate the number of creepers who try to solicit you behind porcelain walls (Volume Three will have a story about that).
My opponents will say I’m supported in this measure by Big Door. What can I say? I like those big usually-wooden things that open and close. But I am not beholden to corporate titans like Schlage and Kwikset. In fact, I’m boosting the economy and secretly pre-investing in these companies before they’re flooded with huge demand.
So vote for me: I’ll make your elimination experience a pleasant one. And stay tuned for more installments of the award-winning* series, “Wyatt’s Lascivious Lavatory Ladventures!”
