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I was at the Museum Cafe the other day, enjoying a glass of caramelish coffee slush while taking advantage of what I think is the only Airborne Access Wifi hotspot in the Ayala Center. When my battery finally died, I decided to powder my nose before heading off to my next appointment.

I was busy combing my hair when a really tall girl came in. Now, I don’t mean to be judgmental, but when one is wearing shorts tiny enough to fit seven-year olds and a top that’s barely there when rain’s pouring like it intends to fill Angat Dam in one hour, I can’t help but think why someone like her would be hanging out in my "work station" (err.. sorry for sounding like a snob).

I was still prettyfying myself when she finished doing her business and she suddenly told me the flush isn’t working in a trying-to-be-feminine-but-actually-masculine voice.

I froze.

A voice in my head was screaming, "YOU ARE SOOOO NOT A GIRL!!" in a stupid Joey sort of way and another voice replied, "Yeah, as if she/he doesn’t know that yet."

As I was just partly thawed, I could only muster, "Oh, okay" as I watched "her" wash "her" hands and I noticed the tell-tale wrist that only confirmed my suspicion.

I don’t mind being around gay people. They’re fun, or at least my gay friends are. But I kinda felt violated having to share a toilet with a someone who’s trying to be something else, as if he/she isn’t a stranger enough. I felt cheated. Naively so.

It’s ironic how one can be so uncomfortable in a comfort room.

Sigh.

This entry was posted on Saturday, August 11th, 2007 at 2:55 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.