“Is there a man in the bathroom?”
I was seated on the toilet in the stall of a women’s restroom of an In-N-Out when I heard the manager yell.
I had stopped at the burger restaurant in the Bay Area for a late lunch last spring, and was alone in the bathroom when the manager entered. “Sir, sir – you’re not supposed to be in here,” she said.
“Ma’am, it’s just me in here,” I responded.
I thought she would leave and that would be it. But I’m a black transgender woman, and people don’t just let us live our lives.
The manager came up to the stall door, and started looking through the cracks. She appeared to be scanning my body up and down. I got very scared. I clenched my purse to cover myself. I felt she was trying to look at my genitals, attempting to determine my gender. I asked her to leave while she continued to ask whether I was a man.
Finally, she left. I washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom to try to speak to her about what had happened. I’m a human that deserves privacy in the bathroom. Why did she think this was OK?