The day I considered becoming transgender

With all the talk lately about transgender restrooms it has me thinking. The solution is so simple I cannot believe no one has thought of it before. But before I tell you about my solution to the problem I need to explain how I came to discover it.

A few years ago I traveled back to my hometown of Louisville, Mississippi. Like most guys I pride myself in covering a lot of miles in as little time as possible. I hate to admit it, but normally when I ride long distances my Number-2 Factor shuts down for a day or two. Why? I don’t know. It just does. But when it kicks in, it kicks in with vengeance.

I had been in town a couple days when the Number 2-Factor hit me. It wasn’t just one of those little urges you get that tells you things below are beginning to wake up and you may want to consider taking care of business. It was an “Oh, my gosh” moment, a Katy bar the door, a the enemy is at the gates moment. I began to perspire. I was fearful I was going to destroy the cloth upholstery in my truck.

The bubbling and churning was almost sickening, and I didn’t think I could hold it any longer, when low-and-behold I spotted a McDonalds on North Church Street. Buddy, I wheeled in there as fast as I could, whipped into a parking spot and threw open the door. I goose-stepped as fast as I could into the restaurant, glanced at the sign that pointed toward the restrooms and made a beeline into the restroom.

The Lord was with me. I spied an empty stall and claimed it. Still sweating bullets I dropped my pants and landed on that porcelain throne just in the nick of time. I erupted with the violence of Saint Helens. The relief was instantaneous. It was pure ecstasy. I was so relieved I had made it I could have cried tears of joy.

As I sat there counting my blessings and letting the perspiration on my forehead dry I heard the restroom door open. I heard voices. There were two people chatting away and I realized something was terribly, terribly wrong. They were not men’s voices. They were lady voices.

That’s when it hit me. In my haste to salvage my dignity rushing into the restroom I had failed to notice which door I had rushed through. There I was sitting in the lady’s restroom.

My relief suddenly turned to sheer fear. The first thing I thought of was, “I’m going to jail. They’re gonna think I’m sort of pervert and have me arrested. I going to jail in my hometown and it’ll be on the front page of The Winston County Journal.” Quickly, I raised my feet off the floor so the ladies couldn’t see my shoes. Then I waited, hoping the ladies wouldn’t notice I was there. Mercifully, the only thing they did was wash their hands. But they stood there and talked and talked and talked. I was thinking, “Geeeez, can’t you just wash your hands and leave?” It was like a Mary Kay convention outside my stall door. I was holding my breath turning blue, hoping they wouldn’t know I was in stall number two. Finally, they ended their conversation and I pulled myself together.

I guarantee you I threw open that stall door and ran out of there as fast as I could. I kept telling myself, “Don’t make eye contact with anyone, and don’t look back.” I fired up the truck and left the premises like Dale Earnhardt going into home stretch. Gone in 60 seconds had nothing on me.

Had I only known back then about this transgender thing, and had I been caught I may have laid claim to it. But that was many years ago, in a galaxy far, far away where they would shoot you for such a transgression.

Now back to the solution to this transgender bathroom problem I mentioned earlier. It’s very simple. Locks. Just put locks on all the restroom doors like they have at all gas stations. You go in, lock the door and take care of business. Problem solved. I admit there may be one heck of a line at sporting events or concerts, but if you feel uncomfortable or unsafe, just lock the door. It’s as simple as that.

If Bruce Springsteen had of thought of that he wouldn’t have had to miss a day’s work. Just lock the darn door. On the other hand, that day in my hometown when nature called so loudly, I don’t think I would have taken up precious time fumbling around with a lock. I would never have made it.

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Rick Algood
April 12, 2016