Public Restroom Etiquette

Public restrooms are a mystery, each having its own learning curve.  You never know how big it is, how many people are in there, or how long the line might be.  As my ataxia progressed, I learned to pay more attention to restroom etiquette.  However, like everything else, it's unpredictable.  Granted, I have no experience with men's rooms, except to know ladies' rooms should have twice the capacity, but don't.  Who hasn't used a vacant men's room when desperate?  I can only speak to bladder–challenged female issues.  

Fortunately, the USA does have ADA requirements and one can usually count on there being a large handicapped accessible stall.  "Bumping ahead in line" was something I had never done in my pre–ataxia days—it always seemed rude.  That's a hard habit to break, even when it may seem to be indicated.  So, while everyone wants a large stall, who gets it?  It has always been my understanding that when the accessible stall is available, it is available to anyone waiting, so first come, uh... first served.  I discovered most people have some disability and spend way too much time trying to decide who is more deserving of the extra space.  Since it's usually a group of strangers in a public restroom, you just never know.  The young mother trying to desperately get one child to pee, while entreating the other to get off the filthy floor and stop peering under the divider into the next cubicle, certainly needs it. The woman on a knee scooter is probably recuperating from a surgery that cost thousands and was only partially covered by insurance. The exhausted traveler, verging on tears, has no doubt been on three flights, two over–long layovers, and is about to lose it.

I knew my pea-sized bladder was a disability

shared by at least half the women in line, the other group blessed with "camel bladders".  My trekking poles never granted me special status. The walker was my first priority ticket to use the handicapped stall.   Although having a motorized scooter does herald a person with disability, Skeeter allows me to take my place in line. I have a seat.  Those standing in line don't.
Given all that, my personal public restroom protocol is to:
—Take my place in line (providing urgency isn't an issue.  If it is, I speak up; most everyone understands...). 
—Take the accessible stall when it becomes available.  Although I'm most often the more disabled, I just never know.
—Ask for help with the stall door if it opens out.
—Use hand sanitizer instead of going to the sink.  It's so upsetting to other restroom users when a disabled person gets stuck at a sink*.
—Check Skeeter's wheels for toilet paper on exiting.

Like a mobility scooter at crosswalks, a scooter in a public restroom tends to elicit immediate consideration.  Consideration from other restroom users is one thing. But when a woman feels guilty when exiting an accessible stall and finding a disabled person waiting, it makes me crazy.  If feeling badly makes her feel better, OK.  Otherwise, she should save the embarrassed expression and the "I'm so sorry..."  It's as if she thinks I feel she should have known? It's not like I made a reservation.

The lesson:  If the handicapped accessible stall is offered, say thanks, take it and stay off the floor.


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