A Truly Revelatory Experience in the Bar Restroom Line

In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an remarkable episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not relevant. The assembled crowd were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Situation

The location was a tavern experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, fine drink and unexpectedly humorous stories about teeth. Inevitably, the point dawned for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, appeared to be absent a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line knew.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly bracing to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly with others with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a public line only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable metric for any advanced culture would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my line, I attempted to initiate some friendly chat started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an irksome difference, right chaps?”

Someone grinned, someone else appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a spot. Another two men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not blame her.