An Eye-Opening Encounter in the Bar Toilet Line

Shortly before the festive season, I had an remarkable incident. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The attending group were exclusively male, which is key.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice libations and unexpectedly humorous tales about dentistry. Naturally, the point came for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it became me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to break out.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue merely for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A useful measure for any civilised society would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Banter in the Procession

Back in my line, I tried to get some brotherly banter started about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an irksome variation, isn't it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, a second appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The line moved forward a position. Another two men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A lady wafted out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I really wouldn’t blame her.