A Truly Illuminating Incident in the Bar Lavatory Procession

In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an unusual incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not relevant. The present crowd were all blokes, which is significant.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was had by all. Fine food, good drink and unexpectedly humorous stories about dentistry. Naturally, the time arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women breeze through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the rare exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A useful measure for any civilised culture would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I attempted to get some brotherly banter going about this novel circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome change, right lads?”

A fellow chuckled, another appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Exchange

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not censure her.