A Genuinely Illuminating Incident in the Bar Restroom Procession

Just before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but it's not relevant. The attending party were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, good libations and unexpectedly amusing stories about teeth. Naturally, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague informed me it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a common queue simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A useful measure for any modern community would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this makes an unpleasant difference, right chaps?”

One person smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. A man emerged, zipping up. The queue moved forward a place. Two more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A woman emerged out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.