Tuesday, May 7, 2019

Restroom Door

At church on Sunday, I was walking along the foyer just outside the chapel door when I saw Joan, who is some years older than me, ask a young woman where the restroom was. "Sure, it's right over there," she cheerfully answered. She took a few steps and pointed, so that the restroom door was visible to Joan. As I approached, I smiled at Joan. She looked at me intently and said, “I know you.”
"Yes," I said.
“I know you. What’s your name?”
"Mary."
“What’s your last name?”
"Johnston."

I was pleased she recognized me. She hasn’t for a long time, although we've been in the same congregation for 26 years. For most of those 26 years, she's known the layout of the church building. I watched her walk over and stand by the women’s room door, staring at the placard. I followed her. "Yes, that’s the women’s room. See, it says women. And the picture has a dress on." She still looked unsure, but finally opened the door and went in.

It must be terrifying to have so little concept of what used to be a familiar world. Imagine, standing in front of a restroom door, uncertain whether to go in. Having some vague dread of embarrassment, perhaps not even knowing why you are hesitating. I’ve walked into men’s rooms before, (more than once), realized my mistake with the sight of urinals and rushed out, hoping to get a safe distance from the door before anyone saw me. It’s deeply ingrained, the dread of being found out. What if I lost the ability to escape and avoid that embarrassment?

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