A Truly Illuminating Encounter in the Bar Restroom Line

Shortly before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable episode. I believe it did me good. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not important. The attending group were solely men, which is relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, fine libations and unexpectedly amusing tales about oral health. Naturally, the time came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women glide through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I surmise, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to stand in a public line only for the chance to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Well, this represents an unpleasant difference, right lads?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. A man came out, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman wafted out of the adjacent facility, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.