An Illuminating Incident in the Bar Restroom Procession

In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an remarkable situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The assembled party were all blokes, which is relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Good cuisine, fine drink and remarkably entertaining stories about dentistry. As expected, the moment arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it became my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is restricted to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a public line merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Back in my queue, I tried to spark some brotherly banter started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an irksome difference, isn't it chaps?”

Someone chuckled, a second looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, stillness ensued. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Interaction

A woman glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not blame her.