Confessions of the Girls’ Bathroom

Sofie Dooley

It’s 1:15 PM,  you cannot keep your eyes on the teacher. You can’t even stay awake, let alone solve an inequality graphically. You think to yourself that you just need a moment of clarity–of peace and silence. Would a short trip to the girl’s bathroom do the trick? Maybe if you bring your phone, you could play Wordle or go on Pinterest for the next 15 minutes, waiting it out. Yeah, that’d be nice. You rise out of your seat,phone in pocket, to make the journey down the hall for a moment of serenity, or so you thought. 

As you push open the door, a wave of senses hit you. Curling irons are out, while you're surrounded by girls sitting on sinks, perfecting their mascara. You hear the sound of passionate gossip, names being dropped, addresses being leaked and deep secrets being unearthed, with the sound of  faint crying in the corner stall, or is that a whimper, a giggle perchance? Who knows. Your nostrils are inflamed with the oh–so-familiar smell of the sterile walls of school mixed with the infamous scents of Bath and Body Works “Champagne Toast” and the caramelized vanilla of “Sol De Janeiro.”

Man oh man, this isn’t any better than Integrated Three Math. In a scurried walk to the stall, you close the door behind you—solitude at last. You try to focus on the Wordle of the day but can’t cancel out the hottest echoing gossip of the new evil OCSA straight man who has wronged 80% of the girls outside your stall. You wish you didn’t have to hear about his most recent exes or how he was texting her at the same time as the next girl, but you have no choice but to listen. The information feels confidential, dangerous almost. After you glance at the gum pile in the corner, you begin to read the faint words scribbled on the walls. You see forums upon forums, depressive thoughts, responses, sapphic confessions and everything in between. 

A sudden burst occurs, filled with anxiety, confusion and fascination. With a bust open of the door and a scurry through the crowd, you are out. This was all too much, and all you wanted was to pee. Alas, you make the trek back to your math class pondering what just occurred. In a moment of reflection, you look back at your experience with gratitude: at least it’s not the boy’s bathroom.