It happened again.
I went to the bathroom downstairs. Outside I thought I heard movement–I should learn to trust myself on this. But I went in anyway, and walked into the worst case scenario: one in a stall, one at the sink. When there are multiple women at the sinks you run a lower risk of getting called out because they don’t like to make a scene, but a woman alone has no problem yelling at you. It’s worse with a woman in the stall because then your little humiliation has had an audience.
I moved quickly and with purpose, attempted to just walk into the stall–she moved as if she was also going for it, though she’d clearly already been at the mirrors–and this woman started to say “You’re in the wrong…” she trailed off and switched to “No, you’re not” as I curtly cut in with “Yeah, I’m a woman, thanks.” Then she started laughing.
Nervous laughter is one thing. Laughing at yourself is one thing. Continuing to laugh at the woman you just called a man as she tries to pee in the stall behind you is entirely another.
I was frozen with anger and shame. I couldn’t pee. I waited, because there was no way in hell I was leaving that stall with that blonde bitch still in the room.
This is my place of work. I cannot even go to the bathroom in the place where I earn my living without my gender being misidentified.
I hate this.