A Truly Eye-Opening Encounter in the Bar Restroom Line

In the run-up to the holidays, I had an unusual incident. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The present crowd were exclusively male, which is key.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, good libations and remarkably humorous tales about dentistry. As expected, the point arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it became me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find 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 strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is standard practice. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is confined to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s only at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised culture would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “Ah, this makes an irksome variation, right chaps?”

A fellow smiled, a second looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a place. Two more men entered the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not blame her.