Bathroom Bigots

Sure, I get strange looks occasionally in women’s bathrooms when wearing a mask and a hoodie. Sure, the employees at the VA called me sir three different times in five minutes on Saturday. But those are manageable and fairly innocent — if ignorant — oversights.

Yesterday I was called “he/she/it” and “that thing” by a bathroom bigot on a self-righteous mission to police my genitals.

I am a cisgender woman. Yes, I’m six feet tall with short hair and wear mostly men’s clothes.

From the time I was a little kid, other kids called me “tomboy.” I always preferred boy’s clothes to skirts and dresses, GI Joes to Barbie Dolls, Eminem to Spice Girls. Kids — especially mean little girls in the bathroom at the elementary school — would insinuate about my sexuality. (Turns out they were right.)

My gender itself has never been in doubt. It matches my biological sex and I give it no further thought. I’m completely content being a woman as long as I never have to wear a dress or assume traditional gender roles. I will wear men’s clothing and full makeup and there is no contradiction.

I am a woman, full stop.

Other people put a lot more thought into my gender than I do these days, which is really fucking weird. The masks made it worse but after that it plateaued. In the last few weeks I’ve noticed a worsening of the gender scrutiny, though.

Transgender people have been offered up by right-wing politicians to be sacrificed to the culture wars. Rarely are people bothered by individual transgender people. Instead, being trans is portrayed as some abstract existential threat. A threat to whom I’ve yet to glean. Many Americans may not know anyone who is out about being transgender, making trans people an easy target for this sort of abstractionized fear-mongering. It’s easier to hate people irrationally when you don’t have to look them in the eyes.

Enter the bathroom police.

Most commonly, women will gently inform me I’m “in the wrong bathroom.” It hurts me but at least they’re being sincere. They meant it to be corrective. I have never before experienced bigotry for the sake of bigotry. Until yesterday.

“What is that he/she/it over there because this is the women’s bathroom,” I heard shouted at no one in particular. She didn’t desist, either, even after confirming my gender. She kept on shouting about how this is the women’s bathroom, and she has a right to know.

My inner child was eight years old again, curled up in a bathroom stall, sobbing after yet another bathroom bullying session. My outward 31-year old self cried tears of rage.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to be trans. I’ve developed a phobic fear of using public restrooms, made exponentially worse by yesterday’s bigotry, and I’m cisgender.

Until I can wear a tank top again — I’d say until we stop wearing masks but that day is distant — I think I’ll just start holding it.

Political rhetoric has real-life consequences.

To the bathroom bigots masquerading as bathroom police: history will not be kind to you.