“When’s the last time you’ve been in a line like this?” he asked. Sand blonde hair draped either side of his face. He had a nice mustache, he was young. “Not since the great potato famine of 2008 have I waited in a line for the men’s restroom.” There we were, a string of dudes, straining ahead at a graffiti-covered hallway-length mirror. “This is what my gym teacher tried to prepare me for. Men’s rights and shit,” another mustachioed man said. “What the fuck even are men’s rights?” I asked. He shrugged, “we’re so oppressed I guess. I’mma piss,” as he stumbles into the restroom. “Look at us, just guys talking about dicks, piss, and shit.” So oppressed.