An Illuminating Experience in the Bar Lavatory Procession

In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an remarkable situation. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not pertinent. The attending group were exclusively male, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Good food, fine libations and remarkably amusing anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the time came for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it came to my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the washbasins later that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on both small talk or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a common queue simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A handy measure for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Procession

Back in my queue, I tried to get some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this is an irksome difference, isn't it chaps?”

One person grinned, someone else looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. An individual exited, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a position. Another two men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady wafted out of the next-door facility, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t blame her.