An Revelatory Encounter in the Bar Restroom Line

In the run-up to the holidays, I had an remarkable situation. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not important. The present group were exclusively male, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A lost session was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, fine libations and remarkably humorous tales about teeth. As expected, the point arrived for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it became my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate told me it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a public line simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A useful metric for any civilised culture would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Back in my line, I tried to get some brotherly banter started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

A fellow smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. A man came out, zipping up. The line shuffled up a place. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady glided out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t censure her.