A Genuinely Illuminating Incident in the Bar Restroom Line

In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an remarkable situation. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The attending crowd were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Fine food, fine beverages and remarkably humorous tales about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for visits to the gents. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A useful measure for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

Back in my queue, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this is an disagreeable change, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone smiled, a second looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a position. A couple more men entered the end of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.