Ocupado

I've always found the rigid sexual dimorphism of public bathrooms extremely frustrating. The reason for this is, quite simply, because I am a woman.

Not only a woman, but a no-nonsense-in-the-bathroom type woman. A woman entirely jealous that men never have to wait in bathroom lines.

There are few better feelings than triumphantly hunting down a bathroom in a public place. There are few worse feelings than being jarred upon entry by a long line comprised of complexly-clothed ladies with huge purses awaiting a full house.

So there you stand, internally conducting the cost-benefit analysis of leaving or waiting it out. Then you come to the conclusion that the line has already grown behind you, and the chances of your finding another, line-less bathroom in the vicinity are slim at best, given your lifelong history of small bladderedness. So you wait.

And wait.

The standoff begins. That blood-boiling standoff between the awkward, silent line that can hear all but a pin drop in the stalls, and the occupants of the thrones. Neither budge. The toe-tapping ensues.

And the eternal question which has plagued me for a lifetime remains: Just what takes women so long in the bathroom?

My original assumption (at age six) was that everyone was like Superman, but slow. And instead of phone booths, people summoned their alter-persona superheroes in bathroom stalls. A few years later I figured everyone else just pooped in public all the time, until I realized that there were never any poop sounds coming from the stalls. Another hypothesis was that they were called "restrooms"- not toilet rooms, which I've always thought would be a more fitting name- because maybe women actually did just go sit on the toilet to rest (or even fall asleep!). Then, right before puberty, I feared that dealing with "Aunt Flo" would mean literal hours lost from each day to be spent in the bathroom. In time, all of the aforementioned postulations were debunked and it was back to the drawing board.

And now, as a seasoned almost-24-year-old, I still have no idea what my XX chromosome counterparts do behind that latched door.

I'm usually in and out of the stall in 30-45 seconds, tops. I realize this may be faster than the norm, seeing as how my still-squatable quads render seat covers useless and I try to plan for optimum efficiency (i.e. getting your toilet paper ready while you're going- not rocket science, people). But in reality, unless you are ill, the bathroom stall should be a place of rapid, efficient business.

Ladies, I implore you: Let's take a cue from the fellas, because how many times have you seen a line spilling out from the men's room? We should be getting in, getting out and getting on with our lives.