An Eye-Opening Incident in the Bar Lavatory Line
Just before Christmas, I had an remarkable situation. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which proves to be key.
A Novel Situation
The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A wasted daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, fine libations and unexpectedly amusing tales about teeth. As expected, the moment came for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a long time. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.
Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.
A Taste of the Norm
To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?
Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.
The Art of Restroom Line Conversation
There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.
On this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the washbasins later that conversation tends to break out.
Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a public line merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A useful measure for any advanced culture would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.
Male Chat in the Line
Back in my line, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat started about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this makes an irksome change, isn't it lads?”
One person smiled, another looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a place. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.
A Knowing Exchange
A woman glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I may give you the time.”
In reality, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not blame her.