The line at this particular bathroom killed her. She hated lines like she hated obscurity. But she had to go. Bad. Justine was a pretty little thing. She’d just cut her long blonde hair off a week ago, going for a tomboy style she found charming. The men in her life weren’t so sure about it, but that didn’t stop them from drooling at the clubs in San Jose. She was in Paso Robles today, far from her base of popularity. Justine made this trip inland to Arizona regularly. It was part of her job, stroking and grooming pharma accounts. She got paid to act flirty and smile with sexual charm at the old men in charge of her business. The rest fell easily into place. Except this particular bathroom at this particular gas station. It always pissed her off.
She held her pink iPhone over her face and snapped a saucy selfie while standing in line. She stood there patiently and posted the pic to Instagram, then realized there wasn’t a line to get into the men’s bathroom. Her line was six women deep. She typed, “Screw this. I’m going into the mens room. Because pee,” and hit share. Oh, there’d be a few hearts on that, she was sure.
Just as she’d forgotten the word because was once followed by more than one word, she’d forgotten that rules were often in place for a reason. It could be they didn’t apply to her. It could be so many rules were just stupid. It could be Justine was stupid. The reasons didn’t matter to her. She didn’t even think twice about going in there. Because pee.
She kept her eyes straight ahead and trucked in, strutting past the yellow-stained urinals with a sense of high dignity (and by a large man hunkered up to one), and entered one of the two stalls. A pair of brown boots were visible in the stall next to hers, but she ignored it. It was only when she sat down did she hear the deep, manly voices.
“Think we got a tranny in here,” one of them said. “Must be a dude to think it can come in here.”
Justine scowled, indignant. “Hello? Did you see the line out there for the girl’s? I didn’t want to wait, but I am a woman.”
“Like we believe that,” the other man said, flushing the toilet next to hers and walking out of the stall.
Justine was about to reply when a brown boot kicked at her stall. She stood and just yanked her pants up when the door crashed open. A storm of wide, bony knuckles fell over her. She’d never felt pain like that before. Never thought she would either. It filled her very soul, that pain, squeezing out her own indignant anger like a vice. She went to black and collapsed on the filthy floor. Boots kicked her a few times to make sure their point was made.