I was in the bathroom at work, peeing, when I hear the door open. My first thought, in all my paranoia, is that it's my boyfriend from down the hall. Then I hear all kind of rustling, and then the paper-towel dispenser open. It's about then that it dawns on me that it's the janitor, this mild-mannered Russian woman who minds our building and empties our trash, etc.
But here's the thing: I'm in the men's bathroom, with my wang in my hand, peeing, and there's a woman in the room. She doesn't say "hi" or acknowledge my existence, but just goes about her work, checking the toilet paper and whatever else she was doing (I had my back turned and was dying of awkwardness, so I didn't see). And I'm just standing there, peeing.
And that's when it occurred to me that it wasn't really awkward. She couldn't see anything (if there weren't those between-urinal dividers, I might have a different opinion), it wasn't really bothering me, and we both had stuff to get done. So I finished my business, washed my hands, and left, like it was a regular trip to the restroom. The restroom that just happened to have a middle-aged lady in it at the time.
I wouldn't have cared if it was a male janitor or another guy that had to use the restroom, why does it matter that it's a woman? Maybe Anglos are too uptight about formalities and boundaries and civility. For now, though, let's not push it beyond the occasional woman in the men's room, yeah?
