This winter was the first time I experienced going to the bathroom with a sign that read “BOYS” on the front. I was incredibly nervous as a female identifying person, and it was only the pressure of my bladder and my inability to wait in the snaking long line outside of the “GIRLS” bathroom any longer that sent me running to the stalls. It was incredibly underwhelming. It was after all, a bathroom. Much like the ones I had seen my whole life only this bathroom was practically empty and the stalls didn’t have a bin for the disposal of feminine hygiene products. I was amazed. How was there no one in there? How had I not used the boy’s bathroom my whole life? I left the stall, washed my hands while sporting my biggest smile at the fellow next to me who continued to scan me in disbelief, stuck on the stripes of my dress. Bathrooms are bathrooms. The least sexy of places in my opinion. So why must they be dictated by the sex one is given at birth. When I exited the bathroom there were still 11 girls waiting outside of the door into the hallway, not yet even inside. I’m not gonna wait in line ever again.