A Genuinely Revelatory Experience in the Bar Toilet Procession

In the run-up to the holidays, I had an remarkable situation. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not important. The attending crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A wasted session was shared by the group. Nice cuisine, nice drink and surprisingly amusing stories about oral health. As expected, the point came for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it was my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender glide through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant familiarity. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a common queue merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

Back in my wait, I attempted to get some friendly chat flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “So, this represents an irksome difference, right boys?”

A fellow grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a position. A couple more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really would not fault her.