Happy hump day, everyone! I hope you all enjoyed your three-day weekend and are back to the books.
I spent the weekend in Boulder, Colo. with some old friends from home. We had a great time gallivanting in the snow – more like ice on the sidewalks – and enjoying the beautiful scenery.
On Friday night, we went to a burger joint called Dark Horse where you can get a burger, fries and a drink for only $5.50. (Burgers and Brew, are you reading this?) So of course when you have a drink the size of your head, you’re bound to have to use the toilet. And that’s exactly what I did.
Here’s the funny part. Imagine a restaurant covered floor to ceiling with wagons, animal heads, pictures and anything else that probably came from the 1800s (or from your grandma’s basement). I walked to the restroom, which was a bit hard to find. There were two doors. One had a picture of a man with the word “women” painted on his arm pointing to the right. The other door had a picture of a woman with the word “men” painted on her arm pointing to the left.
But all I saw were the words “women” and “men.” That’s right, I walked into the men’s room and witnessed a man standing over a urinal. I let out an “oh my god!” and quickly ran out. I don’t think he saw me. But the men standing at the bar did and I’m sure they got a good laugh at me.
This little mix up I had got me thinking about bathrooms, men, women and, of course, lines. Girls, don’t you just hate it when the line for the ladies’ room is twice, three times, sometimes four times as long as the men’s?
If you go anywhere, from concerts to bars, the women always have to wait. I went to a concert over the summer. When it was over, I had to go so badly it hurt.
I saw the line and laughed. It was about 100 women long, and there was no way I was going to make it. So being the sly person I am, I found the exit and snuck into a stall. An angry lady started knocking on the door, and I just stayed quiet doing my thing.
I can’t say this follows my morals, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
From the Davis bars to a random Starbucks in Beverly Hills, I have found myself waiting in line for the bathroom. As I stand waiting on any given day, I could probably count about three guys going into the men’s room.
This isn’t fair. So of course, I use the men’s room from time to time. It’s not a crime, so don’t shoot. (Or is it?)
It’s a great place to meet a guy. It makes for a great conversation starter. Maybe you can start with, “Oh, I’m sorry. Is this the men’s room?” Most guys probably won’t care if you “accidentally” go in the wrong bathroom. They may even ask you for your number.
In some cases, it’s impossible to avoid. My friend who recently graduated from UC Santa Cruz lived in co-ed dorms during his freshman year. He shared a somewhat embarrassing story with me.
He had a favorite stall he would always use, but this specific stall was the only one in the restroom with a sanitary napkin disposal. One day while he was taking care of business, a girl from his floor was waiting for him. He wasn’t sure why. There were plenty of other stalls to use. A few days later, it clicked and he realized why she was waiting. He also learned that everyone poops.
When you have to go, you have to go. But I just don’t understand why girls have to take so long. Maybe this is a great time to thank men for existing, because without you, us girls would probably be ripping each other’s hair out.
ERICA BETNUN climbed a snow-covered mountain last weekend. What did you do? Let her know at elbetnun@ucdavis.edu.
