A Truly Revelatory Experience in the Bar Toilet Queue

Just before the festive season, I had an extraordinary incident. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, nice drink and remarkably entertaining stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the time dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, looked to be away a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women breeze through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my companions, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A useful metric for any advanced community would be equal waiting times in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

During my time in my queue, I endeavoured to initiate some friendly chat going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it lads?”

One person grinned, another looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a place. Another two men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.