An Illuminating Encounter in the Bar Lavatory Line

In the run-up to Christmas, I had an unusual incident. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not relevant. The assembled group were solely men, which is significant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, nice libations and remarkably humorous anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the time arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it came to my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I observed women standing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my mates, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s only at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a public line merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter inequity of it. A valuable measure for any modern community would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat started about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an unpleasant change, isn't it chaps?”

Someone chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, quiet prevailed. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman glided out of the neighbouring facility, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not censure her.