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The Ladies’ Washroom

Okay, I’ll admit I’m getting old; I made a mistake. I didn’t mean to or anything; I was scrolling something on my phone, so I suppose I wasn’t paying enough intention to where my feet were going. There was a common corridor and the entrance to the facility I ordinarily use (admittedly in the Food Court in a mall downtown) is the first door. In the ferry terminal, however, it’s reversed and I walked into the wrong washroom.

The room seemed unoccupied at the time and there were no immediate clues -the sinks along the wall were not in use, so there was nobody apprising me of my blunder; nobody hurriedly readjusting their clothing; nobody screaming. I did, however, worry about the abysmal lack of urinals at first, but hey, there were a whole bunch of stalls with doors. A new look maybe: privacy, perhaps for the LBTQ+ folks. So I proceeded to lock myself in the cubicle closest to the entrance.

I suppose the problem really began when I heard a decidedly feminine voice quietly humming in the stall next to mine. Then, a group of equally female voices entered the room, chatting excitedly about one of their friends who had just found out she was pregnant.

What to do? I didn’t want to miss my ferry, but I certainly didn’t want to elicit screams or be arrested. I heard the toilet flush in the next cubicle and decided it would probably be best not to move or flush my own, in case someone was waiting by the door for my stall. Still, I wasn’t sure of the etiquette of not answering should there be a knock on my door; I was a stranger in a strange land.

Soon, even more voices filled the restroom the as the general reception area outside filled with passengers waiting for the boat. This room, too, was filling with feminine laughter, toilets flushing and taps running, interspersed with moments when the hand-driers drowned out intelligible speech -far more mayhem than I’d ever heard in the men’s room. Surely someone would notice the only door that was not opening…

Despite the pandemonium outside my door, I could just hear an announcement about the ferry on the loudspeaker in the reception area: the boat was currently in the dock and would be available for boarding shortly.

If anything, the message merely intensified the struggle to do whatever the crowd in the little washroom had come to do. Feet were shuffling past my stall and someone accidently bumped into it as they hurried to occupy the stall next to mine, and their purse or something hit my door. This was followed by a giggle and a hurried apology. Strange, I thought; I mean, why giggle?

But I realized I had no idea what protocol dictated in here. For that matter I wasn’t exactly au fait with the niceties on men’s side either -only since my bladder had reluctantly succumbed to the ravages of Age had I felt sufficient need to visit public washrooms. I imagined that on the men’s side, I would have been mocked or suspected of unseemly behaviour had I lingered overly long behind a locked cubicle door. Guys look at things differently, I think; at the very least, they would have pounded impatiently on the door if their need seemed greater than the occupant’s.

I stood well in the rear of the space beside the toilet in case my sneakers could be seen under the door, but there wasn’t much space and I was beginning to cramp up. Then came the announcement that the ferry was ready for boarding, and I could hear more toilets flushing, more stall doors banging, and more hurried shuffling around the sinks; the driers were roaring non-stop and every so often an anxious voice would rise above the din urging their friend to hurry.

I assumed that the room would soon empty and I’d be able to sneak out of the door and pretend I’d just come from the men’s room. But, as luck would have it, just as I was about to unlock the door, I heard the sound of rushing feet and a yell from someone in the reception area pleading with whoever had just entered to wait until they boarded the ferry. But the need was just too great I gathered and the entreaties were brushed aside.

The noise in the reception area was rapidly diminishing and the late entry was taking her time to do her whatever. My anxiety was rising as well. Finally, I heard a flush, quick tap action, a desultory attempt to dry her hands, and then the rapid patter of feet running past my door. I knew they’d be closing the boarding ramp soon, but I hesitated for a moment just to be sure there’d be no unexpected visitors again -other ferries would soon be arriving and the reception area, along with more bladders, would soon be filling.

I was just about to unlock the gate to my unwitting prison when there was a knock on my door. “You can come out now sir,” a female voice announced.

My heart stopped for a moment. It was probably one of the Security guards, and I was in deep doo-doo. I slid the bolt that locked the door and took a deep breath. But I was greeted with the smiling face of the familiar ferry terminal attendant who was often the one in charge of taking the tickets of the passengers as they filed along the boarding ramp.

Her smile occupied her entire face, and her eyes twinkled merrily as she looked at me. “I thought it was you,” she said, trying to suppress a chuckle. “A little girl told me an old man had gone into the ladies washroom, but she said he seemed like a nice old man, so not to hurt him -he’d probably made a mistake or something.

“Anyway, I walked in here with the little girl to check, but the room was so busy, I thought perhaps it might cause a panic if I told anybody. She said she wouldn’t tell on you, but she and her mother stationed themselves outside to see what would happen.

“So”, she said, touching my arm to escort me to the washroom door, “I made sure they held the ramp for you.” Then she looked at me, still smiling. “Don’t worry, I haven’t told anybody. Nobody knows who was hiding in there; you’ll be fine on the ferry… The pub might be interesting tonight, though,” she added and chuckled. “Ferry stuff spreads, eh?”

I’m going to have a talk with my bladder, I think…

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