A Genuinely Eye-Opening Experience in the Bar Restroom Queue

Just before Christmas, I experienced an extraordinary episode. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but this isn't relevant. The present crowd were exclusively male, which is key.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Fine fare, fine libations and surprisingly amusing tales about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment arrived for visits to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the rare weary glance and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a public line merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A handy measure for any advanced community would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “So, this is an disagreeable difference, right lads?”

A fellow chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The line shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Interaction

A female emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not fault her.