An Eye-Opening Incident in the Bar Toilet Line

Just before the holidays, I had an remarkable incident. I believe it did me good. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The assembled group were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Fine food, fine libations and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the moment dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue knew.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins later that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession only for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable metric for any civilised community would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my wait, I tried to get some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “Well, this is an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”

One person smiled, another looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. An individual came out, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a place. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A woman emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t fault her.