An Eye-Opening Encounter in the Bar Lavatory Line

Just before Christmas, I had an unusual incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The present group were solely men, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted session was shared by the group. Fine food, fine beverages and remarkably humorous stories about dentistry. As expected, the time came for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

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

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to have a sample of it myself, watching the women glide through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any modern society would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some friendly chat going about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “So, this represents an irksome variation, right chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence ensued. A man exited, zipping up. The group moved forward a position. Another two men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A female emerged out of the next-door toilet, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not blame her.