The other afternoon I approached the men’s single occupancy bathroom located at the front of Monroe library. The door was locked, so without thinking twice, I tried the adjacent single bathroom whose door’s sign read “Women”. Undeterred by the female illustration, I used the vacant bathroom.

As I exited, I noticed a staring female custodian at her cart.

“Whatchu’ doing using the women’s bathroom?” she asked, looking offended.

“Well, you know, a toilet’s a toilet,” I murmured.

“What?”

“Oh, well, the men’s was locked, and I needed to go, so …”

“They still want you to use the men’s —”

“Yeah, I know,” I said curtly, not believing we were discussing this. “I don’t think it much matters. I grew up with two sisters,” an offered excuse that might soothe her.

She continued, but I had no patience, as my use of the “female” bathroom, not too unlike the men’s next door, was only in the interest of expediency.

“Okay, well, thank you,” I clipped and finally walked away.

I found a friend reading at a table in the commons area and divulged to her the awkward encounter. She laughed, but I resented the custodian for making a to-do about something innocent.

“It’s not like you used the regular female bathroom where there’s other women,” she commented.

We went on to talk about other things, but minutes later, one of the library faculty members approached our table, and asked if she could see me in her office. “Uh …sure, is something wrong?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” she replied tightly.

Oh my god, that hyper-vigilant janitor told on me! I couldn’t believe I was being taken away privately to a dark office to once again be reprimanded.

Without mutual introductions or either of us taking a seat, she said, “It was reported to me by one of our custodians that you used the women’s bathroom.” Reported?

“Yeah, I did,” I said blankly. She looked confused, and her face begged the question, “What’s up with that?”

I explained to her my logic, proving what a reasonable choice it was, but, to my surprise, she did not yield to my understanding. She was making me feel as uncomfortable as she looked.

She tried to explain how using the women’s bathroom could threaten the female workers who clean them; but women clean the male restrooms, too. Her logic was senseless.

“Okay, you know, I get it. I’ll try to follow the rules,” I said with a tone of finality in order to end this absurd conference with equal parts sarcasm.

Neither she nor the custodian could seem to realize the basic logistics of the situation or that using the opposite sex’s restroom caused no harm. The only harm my “wrong” incurred was on both women’s socialized sense of order.

I can always count on the more rigid and socially sensitive to discipline me when I debunk social expectations.

Jonas Griffin can be reached at [email protected]