A Truly Revelatory Encounter in the Bar Toilet Line

Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an unusual episode. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A wasted session was shared by the group. Nice fare, good libations and unexpectedly humorous stories about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue 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 queue recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the women breeze through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my companions, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the odd eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a shared procession only for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced society would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I tried to get some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this is an unpleasant difference, right boys?”

Someone chuckled, another looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. Someone came out, zipping up. The group moved forward a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t censure her.