accidental feminist

So I need to go to the bathroom at the Jewel. I walk down the little corridor to the bathroom door. I find the usual cart full of restocks in front of the bathroom door, as well as the sound of a fan coming from the bathroom.

Hmm, I think, that may likely indicate that a person is inside blow drying her hands. But it may also simply be the fan that accompanies the light. And since I desperately need to relieve myself, I will attempt to see for myself. The worst that could happen is the person in the bathroom will experience the mild irritation of the locked doorknob jiggling, and the best is that I get to pee faster.

So I turn the knob. And the door opens.

And I find an elderly woman standing at the blower. Damn it! Got the bullet that time. And yet, I think, she is finishing drying her hands, so perhaps this is perfect timing; Maybe she had unlocked the door, realized that she wanted to more fully dry her hands, and set back to the dryer with the door unlocked as I found it. I shall hold the door open momentarily, then, which may work to our mutual benefit. She will not have to open the door upon leaving, and I will get to pee faster.

But it is not to be…

“Close the door!” she shouts, pushing it shut. I then stand there outside the bathroom while she, out of spite, waits for the blower to stop, hold 1…2…3…and sets it whirring again. After the completed second cycle of the blower, she emerges.

And she takes her cart and starts to leave.

Wait! That’s her cart? That cart filled with three boxes of sudafed, four jars of concord grape jelly, six boxes of jello brand key lime pie filling, eighteen pairs of tube socks…? That’s not a restock cart!?

At this point, any thoughts of even broaching the topic of her neglecting to lock a public bathroom door, thereby making me feel like I had done something wrong have all but left my head. Let her go, Rachel. She’s not worth it, I tell myself. So I watch her start to walk away. And then…

She turns back for a moment, eyes me suspiciously and mutters “…just held the door open like that…” and shuffles away.

I am tempted to shout back to her, to call her out on her unlocked door that started it all, to tell her that it was she, and not me, who has broken the rules of propriety, but I realize that this retort would have a “you can’t fire me, I quit” quality to it, and even if no one is there to hear it, it seems undignified and foolish.

So, you have bested me this time, batty old hag. But I will return. And someday, I will open that unlocked door and see you taking a dump, and I will hold that door open and watch…and I, I will have the last laugh.