The Real Restroom Dilemma

Last summer, Momsy and I attended an Arts and Crafts Fair. After bopping around from one crafter to the next, we needed a bathroom pit stop. Luckily for us, there were actual bathrooms at this fair – not a porta potty in sight. Unfortunately for me, those bathrooms were very noisy, and included my least favorite thing ever: air-powered hand dryers.

At the bathroom building, I informed Momsy that I did not, in fact, have to pee.

I lied.

i lied

Was my bladder going to explode if the internal pressure was not released at that very moment? Probs not. But there was no way I was going into the noisy restroom.

I waited patiently outside for Momsy, watching women join the long line for the restrooms, then watching them exit after several minutes. The roar of the hand dryers, women talking, and the toilets flushing collided with the quieter sounds of the world outside as I stood baking in the bright sun, like a cookie.

Walking past me came a woman pushing another woman in a wheelchair. The woman in the wheelchair was missing her one leg below her knee. The pair were heading towards the restroom line.

Suddenly, a young volunteer working at the fair asked the woman, “are you headed to the bathrooms?

The woman in the wheelchair replied, “yes.”

The volunteer said, “oh, come this way, this the employee bathroom, but you can use it.”

The two women thanked her casually and followed her past a security gate and into another small building.

That moment resonated with me. The woman in the wheelchair was clearly disabled – anyone could see both the wheelchair and the fact that half her leg was not there. The volunteer did the right thing by trying to make life easier for her by accommodating her needs and allowing her to use a separate, less crowded bathroom.

I began to imagine if I had asked that same volunteer if I could also use the private bathroom. I envisioned myself explaining – in my awkward-while-trying-to-be-confident manner –  about my sensory processing disorder, and how the normal bathrooms were very uncomfortable – in this case, impossible – for me to use.

I could see her making that “ehhh” face, the one where she isn’t buying it, but she doesn’t want to look like an absolute idiot either. She responds with something along the lines of “well, you see, that bathroom is for employees only. I’m sorry but I don’t really work here. I’m just a volunteer, and I don’t think it would be allowed.”

the ehh face

If I was a true badass of disability equality and advocacy, I might say something along the lines of, “But I noticed you allowed that other disabled woman to use that restroom. I was hoping I could also be accommodated because of my special needs.”

Next, perhaps, she would create some kind of excuse for her decision, like “I allowed that woman to use the other restroom because her wheelchair would be too big for the regular restroom.”

OrI didn’t want her to have to wait on the long line.”

Or maybe even, “She is in a wheelchair so she has a disability. You are clearly a fully-functioning person because I cannot see any visible sign of a problem. So you cannot use the other bathroom because you are a liar and you are trying to mooch the system. SHAME….SHAAAAAAMMEE.”

Was there a small chance that this volunteer would allow me to use the private restroom after I politely explained my situation? Of course. But that small chance was probably very, very small. And for some reason, I would end up feeling guilty asking for this accommodation in the first place.

The whole moment made me think about every person with an invisible illness or disability or condition. Our lives are spent trying to make the best of a world that doesn’t seem too eager to accommodate our particular needs. Whether those needs are closer parking spaces, equal treatment in school or at work, or the need to use a different restroom when one is available.

As a teenager, I used to wear brightly colored earplugs to visually remind those around me about my condition (aside from using them for hearing protection, too). Without them, I’m certain most people would have completely forgotten about my severe sensitivity to sound and things would have been more miserable then they already were. I used to jokingly tell Momsy that I wished I was in a wheelchair because maybe then people would respect and understand my needs once they saw a visual sign of a problem. How sad is that?

Would it be tacky of me to walk around with a massive sign drapped over my shoulders, reading: PERSON WITH NEUROLOGICAL CONDITION. MAY REQUIRE SPECIAL SERVICES?

perosn with condition

I wish I didn’t have to feel that way, but that’s how much of our society thinks of differently-abled people, and that’s how desperate I am to make things easier.

As we left the arts and crafts fair that day, Momsy and I talked about it. I said, “What if a mother and her young, autistic son asked to use separate bathroom and were turned down, even after the mother explained her situation?” Momsy replied, “They would’ve had to use the regular restroom and the boy would’ve been very upset in there, and the mother would be frustrated and tired.”

I mumbled something like, “that’s not fair. Life sucks. Can we get ice cream?”

tps

And so we got ice cream, and I peed when we got home (in case you were concerned).

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9 comments

  1. Air dryers are the devil’s invention. My daughter will loudly sing the alphabet repeatedly every time someone either flushes the toilet or dries their hands. We have to carry sticky notes for those stupid self flushing toilets so she can control when it flushes and mentally prepare for it instead of it going off if she wiggles. It’s gotten to the point where I know every “good” bathroom anywhere near where we normally go and the “bad” bathrooms to avoid because if the singing doesn’t work then my daughter will resort to full on screaming, like someone is attacking her and they are, with their noise. I’ve had people apologize for drying their hands, which seems silly to me because you should be able to have dry hands, but my daughter clearly doesn’t think so. Good luck on your journey, maybe we will bring a little more awareness eventually.

  2. Oh my. YES!! “Automagic” toilets and “air blasters” (especially “turbo blasters”) are the bane of my two daughters!!! Unfortunately, I didn’t understand the sensory issues my older, “typical” daughter until my younger daughter was born with cerebral palsy. They are now 15 and 12, and we can (almost) laugh about it, but one trip to Disney World was disastrous on several fronts because of those accursed toilets and hand dryers. The girls are much better able to cope than they used to be, but it’s still painful. Bless you, I wish I had found you 14 years ago. I have had to ask my older daughter’s forgiveness for all the times I thought she was just **being difficult** instead of understanding that she was **having a difficulty**.

    1. Even though you didn’t understand their difficulties at the time, what’s most important is that now you do, and you are making an effort to learn and help them on this journey. Thank you for the comment – have a lovely day and please browse my other blog posts to read more stories that I’m sure will ring true regarding your daughters. ❤

  3. I used to get the ‘Meh’ face all of the time but now I have MS as soon as I mention it, it’s like the human version of a dog whistle and staff immediately pay attention (compared to when I’d say I have Dyspraxia/SPD) even though I’m not in a wheel chair yet. And all I had to do was get MS ;o)

  4. Would I be able to take a screen shot and post your wonderful Neurological Condition Sign cartoon on my Instagram, pretty please? I understand if the answer is no because you don’t want it sharing every where, although I would apply a credit to the piccy. I just like spreading awareness in a funny way but don’t want to steal your work :oD

    1. You certainly can – if you could tag my Instagram page (eatingoffplastic) in the post, that would be great. I just started the Instagram page for Eating Off Plastic, so I currently don’t have any posts yet. But please do – and thank you ❤

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