Bathroom

The office building where I bookkeep on Wednesdays isn't in a glamorous location. It's south of Market, next door to a detox shelter, down the street from the only food vendor in the neighborhood: a donut shop that also makes sandwiches. Still, I love the view from the bathroom, and I often gaze outside after peeing just to give myself a little repose during the work day.

This is facing north toward downtown. If I had a better camera, it would capture more depth, the tall buildings in the background would look crisper. I enjoy the corrugated metal roofs of the offices in the foreground. The view puts me in touch with the collective consciousness of cubicle workers everywhere who have nothing but carpeted grey walls to stare at all day.

Every time I use the bathroom in this building, I have to laugh at the idea of gender. As if it's not enough that the universal symbol for "ladies' room" is a silhouette of a skirt-wearing person, the actual key I use to get into the bathroom is printed with a floral pattern. I don't work for a particularly conservative company; it's just the way it is, no questions asked. Never mind that I haven't worn a skirt since approximately 2002 (at a dead celebrity party for which I was dressed as Dorothy Parker, martini in hand) and before that probably during George H.W. Bush's administration.