There's a Girl in the Boy's Bathroom

*anyone who gets that reference gets a high 5*

I am both shocked and appalled at an experience I had while I was home. Please, allow me to paint you a picture...

The Team of Terror and a couple girl friends of mine decide to rock out P-Town style one night while we were home. As many of you can attest, any amount of "rockin' out" in the 'Borough often includes alcohol, so you can bet that our evening did as well. Our first stop was to a friend's to visit and, for the non-DDs, pre-drinking. Then, and I'm ashamed to say it, we were lured unwittingly into Sin City due to the lengthy lines at the bar we wanted to go to and the sheer amount of time that had elapsed since last bestowing it patronage. After paying a truly offensive $5 in cover (for those of you that don't know, Sin City is bar so sordid that you feel oddly violated paying for the experience), we strut in like we own the place. Upon reexamining this bar after years of not having entered it, we promptly panic and feel dirty all over. Luckily, we are champions of making the best of things and, with a little help from Sir Mix-A-Lot, we hit the dance floor. A few songs and some funny photographs later we've had enough and decide to roll out to Petrina's to play pool and attempt to sweet talk our way up to The Junction. It is here that our story really begins....

Again, for anyone who is unaware, the Junction/Riley's/Petrina's is Peterborough's only bar that can lay any claim to so much as a modicom of class or standards. It is nicely laid out and decorated, you don't frequently get hit on by filthy men at least 30 years your senior, and it's a pretty safe bet that the percentage of people exhibiting psychological symptoms of their STDs is substantially reduced. In fact, they even have a dress code so even if the whorish chickies are out in full force (and they always are), at least they're wearing a little something. With all this in mind, I shall continue.

Since we just want to play pool, we are able to avoid the line outside and get right into Petrina's. Once inside, we break the news to the token male that he'll have to grab a table solo while we powder our noses. No, this wasn't your usual "girl posse to the bathroom" time, there was alcohol involved therefore, it's fair to assume an element of critical importance. The 3 of us practically sprint through the place to the washrooms. We race down the stairs only to realize that the women we see chatting on the staircase aren't just there trying to earn an extra buck from the men that pass by...oh no, they are in line. I, of course, am horrified and forced to unload my most notorious Mandyism "RIGODDAMNDICULOUS!" and promptly proceed to whine........and then! a glimmer of hope! The men's washroom door opens to reveal a mere 3 guys waiting inside! We look at each other, lay down a hearty collective, "F this S", and head in the direction of salvation.

Men, you needn't worry. We women are not stupid and have realistic expectations of the washrooms you use. We pay attention to the utter lack of cleanliness in your apartments, we take note of the fact that you'll wear the same socks day in and day out, we know there is an ever present pile of random crap in your closet regardless of how tidy the rest of your home may look; we know what you're capable of. Clearly us 3 girls are aware that the best course of action for us to employ is avoidance. Under no circumstances, no matter how much toilet paper we place on that toilet seat, will we actually be sitting on it - hovering is the only answer.

Only...what is this?! The door is still swinging shut from our bold entrance when we stop dead in our tracks, awestruck by what we are bearing witness to. The room is brightly lit, the mirrors are clean, there is a clear order in which the guys are permitting one another to use the facilities. That alone would be enough to pleasantly surprise us, but there's more... Laid out along the counter are various colognes! There is a container with no less than 20 different packs of gum and a bowl of mints! The men are good natured about us barging in on their privacy (though we were good about steering clear of the urinal area) and make a point of chatting with us. There are small, neat piles of folded paper towels, and...no, it can't be....oh but it is! Sweet mother of god, there's a man in the washroom HANDING OUT PAPER TOWELS!!! We are astounded. Our 20-odd years of life experience has ill-prepared us for the wonders we saw this night.

A few men behind us in line, in an attempt to capitalize on our brief moment of utter amazement and wonder, make a run for the next available stall, but they fail! Hahaha suckers! Getting beaten by a woman in the one sacred place a man should be free to revel in a modest amount of peace did not appeal after that and the other 2 of us were permitted the next available stalls sans confrontation. Thankfully we hadn't lost all sight of rational thought and each continued to employ our "hovering" tactic. After washing my hands and marvelling at the selection of goodies, I kindly received a towel from the nice smiling man and went on my way meeting my girls in the stairwell.

Before climbing up the stairs to continue our night-o-pool, I take a look in the Women's Washroom to see if it has changed since I last used it. Much to my chagrin, I note that it hasn't. It is void of the plethora of mints, gum and perfumes; there is the faint sound of saddness where welcoming banter from others using the facilities should be and, most tragically, it is bereft of a nice, friendly person to hand out paper towels. In fact, the only noteable paraphernalia is the mountain range of used paper towels stretching for (seemingly) miles. A stark contrast indeed to the posh boys restroom!

Up the stairs we trudge, curious about the inequalities we have witnessed, wondering in how many other subtle instances women are being debased, pondering the decision to spend resources equipping a restroom so fancily for a gender that would least utilize the blessings at their fingertips.... At least, I know this to be true as far as the use of the paper towels is concerned since I witnessed perhaps 1 in 5 men wash their hands - EW! Luckily we were able to exact our revenge in the form of kicking our alpha male's butt in pool (him sinking the cue ball at the same time as the 8 ball still means we win, ok? Geez.)

I am disillusioned and have thus resigned myself to habitually making use of the Men's facilities...at least in that establishment. I shall henceforth refuse to use the substandard Ladies room like a sucker!