A Truly Eye-Opening Encounter in the Bar Restroom Procession

Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled party were exclusively male, which is key.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, nice drink and surprisingly humorous stories about teeth. Naturally, the time dawned for trips to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on either niceties or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

During my time in my line, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this is an irksome change, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow chuckled, a second appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. Someone came out, zipping up. The line shuffled up a position. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Exchange

A female glided out of the neighbouring facility, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not fault her.