A Story About Decorum
Or: When Restroom Access Becomes a Tool of Harassment
Image Description: A wood panel sign on a white door that has the symbols for male, female, and wheelchair with the word “Restroom” in white and corresponding writing in raised Braille dots.
When I started the last full-time job that would require commuting to an office five-days-a-week, little did I know that I was also entering a sustained, silent battle to access the restroom.
On my first day I was given the standard tour: location of my desk, copier room, break room, and of course, the restrooms. It was a large building and most of the staff where I worked took up cubicles and offices on the first floor, which spanned a wide building block. To be honest, even the closest restroom wasn’t all that close, and the other two options were at the far end of the building.
My Restroom Options Were Limited
As is standard in many American buildings, there was one accessible stall large enough to accommodate a power wheelchair like mine in each of the two sets of restrooms at either end of the building. Also far from my desk was a single accessible restroom that was labeled for use by individuals requiring assistance (like a personal care aide).
At first, I didn’t notice any problems. I visited the accessible stall nearest to me without finding anything amiss. Then, slowly, I realized I frequently found the stall locked and had to rush myself down the long corridor to get to the further restroom location. (Only once or twice did I use the single accessible restroom as I was aware of colleagues who needed it and I didn’t want to ever cause them delay in tending to their bodily needs.)
The Mystery of the Locked Accessible Stall
After a few of these experiences I looked under the stall door gap and didn’t see (or hear) a wheelchair or assistive device. In fact, I had friends at work who used wheelchairs and walkers, and we would sometimes meet coming and going in the restroom. We knew each other and were all on friendly terms. So it dawned on me that these mysterious locked-door situations were a different animal.
I started knocking and explaining that a wheelchair user needed the accessible stall because it was the only one at this end of the building. I would find all of the many other stalls (at least eight) open and unused, so I knew it wasn’t a matter of not enough availability of other options. But I was met only with stoney silence.
Finally, if I could manage it, I would wait outside the stall as long as possible to stare angrily at the woman on her exit. Much of the time she would wait me out and refuse to leave. Since my bladder was exploding by that point, I often had to give up and race to the other end of the building. But once or twice I caught her out and she would offer no apology — a look of triumphant distain on her face, like she enjoyed the experience of my discomfort.
We Know the Identity of the Offender
Amongst the ladies with mobility devices in the office, this frequent abuser of the accessible stall was well known. We would share stories of yet again, not being able to pee in a timely manner. Some of us made complaints, but nothing ever happened. We were told she was advised to stop using that stall if another was open, but it didn’t change her behavior and we were left stranded without easy access to the stall that was essential to our comfort (and bladder health).
A paper sign was even taped on the door, saying that mobility aide users were to be prioritized access to the stall. It would stay up a few days, then be mysteriously torn down, then replaced again like a horrible repeating prank.
Harassment Through Restroom Obstruction
In retrospect, I realized that going to the restroom became anxiety-inducing for me. I would delay because I wouldn’t know if I would be able to use it without feeling upset or angry. It felt like a hostile zone, not knowing whether I would be able to access the restroom whenever I needed it.
And this strange situation wasn’t something I could talk about with my closest coworkers. As real as it was, it felt impossible to articulate that I was being silently harassed by a woman restricting my ability to use the restroom. The other disabled women would mention it occasionally and we all knew the perpetrator, but we were powerless to stop her.
Debating the Decorum of Blocking Restroom Access
Unfortunately, there is no neat resolution to this awful workplace experience and persistent harassment. When the pandemic hit, everyone was ordered to work from home and I could use my restroom whenever I needed it (my husband was a lot more accommodating about respectful sharing 😊). After a time, I realized how much stress and anxiety from which I was able to unburden myself due to easy access to the restroom. Only years later, have I understood the terrible, unrelenting harassment I (and other similarly affected ladies) endured.
When I started contemplating this month’s theme of decorum, this experience came appeared out of the fog of memory. I wondered if my attempts to confront the woman were outside of decorum. But my husband pointed out, that it was her behavior that was completely abominable and indecorous — blocking access to be able to relieve a human bodily function.
In a time when we are questioning who is polite (or not) and what level of rule breaking (or bending) is permissible or understandable, I think we need to explore the concept of decorum: who sets the rules, when does breaking them becomes acceptable, when we need to reprimand those willing to ignore the guidelines of propriety, and — finally — when do we need to change our ideas about decorum entirely.
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Imagining you waiting outside the bathroom holding your pee because someone couldn’t give a shit or wanted more space knowing that you work there and need to use that stall is infuriating to me. I’ve had to wait countless times in public spaces, but this is your workplace and what enables you to work there. Same with parking and wherever else that’s needed to level the playing field. It’s generous to refer to this as decorum. You need to be able to access the bathroom when you need it. This makes me so angry.
That story makes my blood boil.