A Genuinely Revelatory Encounter in the Bar Lavatory Procession

Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The attending group were exclusively male, which is key.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A wasted session was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, fine libations and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the time dawned for trips to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the women walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that chat tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or reticence. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a public line only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A valuable measure for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in wee waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I tried to spark some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an irksome variation, right boys?”

Someone smiled, someone else looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. A man came out, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a place. A couple more men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female emerged out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not blame her.