As you know, I have a thing about bathrooms. Working in Redmond this month, when I visit the restroom (delicately put) I keep using the first stall. If you recall from my previous entry, I usually prefer the second stall. So yesterday I realized that my whole decision to use the first stall was based on false observations.

The first time I entered this bathroom I thought there were two stalls. The first stall, normal size (which is small, we’re talking “knees hitting the door” small), then the second stall, a disabled stall (lusciously large, begging for a loveseat and barista service). But as I said, my whole day to day bathroom visits for the last three weeks have been shaken up a bit, because I discovered I was overlooking a second stall in between the first and the disabled ones. How could this be? How could I have glazed over a second stall, a stall I normally seek out?

At this point I realize I can’t change what I’ve been doing, so I am continuing to use the first stall. It’s my stall now. If I switched stalls I feel I would be insulting the first stall, as if to say, “My ass has found better space.”

But wait, this isn’t why I’m writing this entry. I want to discuss the disabled stall. I never use a disabled stall unless I need to change clothes (which is hard because you never want your stuff to touch the bathroom floor) or if there is a long line in the bathroom and that’s the next one open (and even then I only do it because the people behind me pressure me into it). Why you ask? I’ll tell you why.

Once upon a time, I was waiting my turn in line. You know, the typical 30-women-long line at say a movie theatre, baseball game, or Air Supply concert. So I’m successfully avoiding eye contact with anyone and trying not to catch my reflection in the mirror, when a woman in a wheelchair rolls by us all. She pulls up to the disabled stall and waits for the woman in there to exit. What do you think happens next? If you are guessing that the woman in the stall walks out on her own two feet, unencumbered by crutches or a wheelchair, very much healthy and able, and if you are guessing that the woman in the wheelchair begins to lecture the entire line of us about how the disabled stall is only for the disabled and how dare we have the audacity to use this stall, and if you are guessing that we all hung our heads in shame knowing we have all used those stalls without abandon in our lives, then my dear, you have hit the nail on the head.

So here I am today in a small restroom, hovering over my non-disabled toilet, now fully aware there is another non-disabled stall available, when I hear a perfectly abled woman go into the disabled stall. I’m torn. General bathroom protocol is do not go into the stall right next to an occupied one if you can help it, but what if the only other option is the disabled stall?

Are we to believe that disabled bathroom stalls are the equivalent of disabled parking? I’ve tried to theory this out, working in all the variables, but I need guidance and opinions. Bring it on.