P**ing in a men’s public toilet

I altered this post due to people apparently thinking this post was about p**ing ON other people. At least, that’s what their seach engine told them. I decided I did not want to disappoint these people anymore.

First off, let me clarify: I am female.

The first time I p**d in a men’s toilet was at a Fun. concert. It is a mystery to me why they don’t expand p**ing-possibilities for women. Surely the infinite line in front of the lady’s restroom shows we have a smaller bladder than men – or – well we need to change our tampons or whatever. Anyhow women have at least three reasons to go to a bathroom, men only have two. They ought to think about that.

Oh, fun fact: I did not know until recently that “I need to go and powder my nose” actually means they need to go to the toilet. I remember when my friend said she was going to go powder her nose (there weren’t any men around) and I asked her: Why now? Your nose looks fine.

Then they explained it to me. I had always wondered why women always need to go powder their noses in the middle of a meal. But it’s silly really. Why should women need an excuse to use the bathroom. Where do you think the food goes when our body is done with it? Does it rise up through our glossy hair and build fluffy clouds for the gods up above to sit on?

However, me, I am someone who can be very impatient, hates to stand and well, if I notice that I have to p** – I really do have to p**. And yes, this post really is about what is described in the title.

So, this one time at a Fun. concert, before anyone had come on stage, I had to – wait for it – p**!

As you can imagine there was a very long line in front of the lady’s restroom and there happened to be nobody in the men’s room. It was a quick thought, hardly any thought at all really.

Next to quite a few pissoirs I found a proper toilet behind a door with a lock on it. Perfect.

The problem was, just as I was ready to leave, I heard two men enter the room. I heard them unzip their trousers and pee. They had a bit of a chat too. I could not go out now. They would see me and I would see them. So I waited.

I waited for a long time, but they seemed to be taking their time. After a while they had stopped p**ing and were now quiet. I hurried out and headed for the sinks – where the two rockers were washing their hands.

Turns out, they were really nice people. Let me wash my hands, understood how hard it must be for a woman to simply go to the toilet when ten thousand have had the same idea before you.

Surely they felt sorry for me. I smiled and giggled, then fled outside. Unfortunately there were quite a few people waiting outside the toilets. Ah well.

The second time was also at a concert. This time several women were using the men’s toilets. There were even some guys who escorted the women back to the “sitting toilets”, as there was a really long line in front of the ladies bathroom. The thing was, those toilets were right at the back and everything was rather open. Long story short: That was the first time in my life to see a real-life pe nis – or several.

Moving on: As philosophical as I am, there is of course a deeper meaning to this title.

As you may know, I work in a restaurant and I’ve been meaning to write a blog post on some of the experiences I have gathered in working with men. I think tonight has given me the right incentive.

I may be a young woman by now, but I still don’t fully see myself that way, which prevented me from realising that I may not see myself as a proper woman, but others do.

My colleague, but primarily my friend, and I, both the youngest on the team have made a few observations over the last few months.

As newbie’s – and yes we are and always will be newbie’s – it’s normal to take the blame for everything. We have got used to apologizing for leaving the phone the wrong way around even though we never actually touched the phone all night.

We have also got used to being referred to as Babe by a colleague, as that’s his nickname for all women. We don’t like it, but we’re used to it.

Now, there are pros and cons to being sometimes the only female on the team.

Pros: They do things for you.

They look and me and they see this small girl with short legs and even shorter arms (and absolutely no strength), so they’ll often assist me with getting down heavy boxes from ridiculous places, offering me help in situations I really don’t need it.

The cons are: You are exposed to quite a lot of weird-alpha-male-sexism.

Apart from being called Babe all the time, you can occasionally hear the guys call in the kitchen, accusing each other of having touched my butt. My friend – who is a bit curvier than I am – told me of a time she was getting on her bike to leave and when she looked there were two or three guys from the team, standing there, staring at her.

Being a waitress is, I find, a sexist job. Well, it’s sexist for male waiters too, only that they’re exposed to the lusty looks of old laides, whereas we waitresses are nice to look at for old men. I’ve even earned a menacing look or two by one of those men’s wives.

And then there’s the thing from tonight. All evening I had been getting stains on my shirt, until at the end I got some tomato dip on it and I decided to take it off. Underneath I was wearing a tank top. As there were https://i0.wp.com/static2.businessinsider.com/image/536a53836da8110b2669d09f/26-sexist-ads-of-the-mad-men-era-that-companies-wish-wed-forget.jpgno more guests except for a group of women in the restaurant, I didn’t think it’d bother anyone. But when I came back in the kitchen, two of my colleagues stood there staring, thought it was incredible I’d take off my shirt and one told me to stop dressing like a stripper.

A simple: “Please put your shirt back on.” would have sufficed.

To be a little sexist or prejudice from this side, here are a few observations when they feel like they’re simply among men. I am hardly there, I go quiet then, as I wouldn’t know what to say.

When it gets late – like tonight – they all join in a game of “I can use the word “fuckin’ more than you can!”

So it goes: “Yo, where’s the fuckin’ key!”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man! Get your motherfuckin’ ass in the kitchen. It might be there!”

I don’t mind swearing, but I’m not that into it either.

So, they get to swear around and call me Babe and stripper, while I am always reminded to behave. How is that fair?

I am one of the youngest, the least experienced and female. And I feel awful about it.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s