An Eye-Opening Experience in the Bar Restroom Queue

In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary situation. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled party were solely men, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, good beverages and remarkably entertaining stories about oral health. Inevitably, the point came for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it was me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line knew.

A Taste of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I observed women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is confined to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a common queue only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised society would be gender parity in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

During my time in my line, I attempted to get some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this makes an disagreeable change, isn't it chaps?”

One person grinned, another looked blank, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line advanced a place. Two more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to express an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.