I’ve been thinking about the whole transgender bathroom issue. I have to admit, I’m confused.
If a fella is dressing as a woman and identifies as a woman and goes into the Ladies and into a stall and does his business . . . who’s going to know? And if a woman is dressed as a man and strolls past the urinals to do her business in one of the stalls . . . who’s going to know? And who’s going to care?
I’m much more concerned about whether someone is carrying a gun (open or concealed) in a public place than I am in where that person decides to take a tinkle. And yet, I am going to guess that the majority of the people whose panties are in a knot over the restroom dilemma are the same ones who think it’s their right to shop for Cheetos and doughnuts with an assault rifle slung over one shoulder.
Can this country get any crazier?
So, if we stick to the status quo of one facility for the Ladies and another for the Gents, how are we going to know if someone is trying to do a switcheroo? Will Wal-Mart and Target have to hire Gender Checkers? Would you look down people’s pants for minimum wage? Would there be spot checks, or would the Gender Checker have the authority to pull aside anyone who looks suspicious?
“Excuse me, ma’am, but is that an Adam’s Apple or a goiter?”
And let’s consider the idea of shared bathrooms. Unless you were raised by wolves, didn’t you share the family bathroom with members of the opposite sex? Yeah, I know they’re family, but nobody wants to go in the bathroom after Dad has finished the paper and unloaded or Little Brother has sprayed everywhere and left the seat up. I would say keep men in the Men’s room simply because so many of them are gross. Forget about sexual imposition.
Every time I have to fly anywhere and am forced to use the unisex bathrooms on the plane I know I’m taking my chances and that acceptable standards of sanitation are just one unfortunate visit away from being compromised. And yet, with a couple hundred people on a plane and two or three potties, everyone manages.
How annoying is it, though, when a flight attendants snarls, “You can’t stand here,” and all you’re doing is waiting to use the john. It’s not for FUN, lady. It’s not an experience I’m looking forward to, ma’am. Do you know what awaits me inside? No. Nor do I, and yet, I have no choice but to face it. And if I return to my seat? Well, then I’ll have to come back in a few minutes and stand behind more people to wait my turn and, oh, just SHUT UP.
Anyway. With nutjobs running for President and more garden-variety nutjobs packing heat on college campuses and at the Dollar Tree and Dunkin Donuts, who the hell cares if the dude who looks like a lady piddles in the women’s restroom?
The chances of a transgender person approaching a little girl in the Ladies are about as likely as a dingo eating your baby. Now, can we please get back to worrying about real things, like how that poor Mr. Trump’s skin turned orange?