A Genuinely Illuminating Experience in the Bar Restroom Procession

Just before the holidays, I encountered an unusual situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were solely men, which is significant.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was had by all. Fine cuisine, good libations and surprisingly amusing stories about teeth. Inevitably, the point dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Taste of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a common queue only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter inequity of it. A useful measure for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Back in my wait, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person chuckled, another looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a spot. Two more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to convey an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.