A Truly Illuminating Incident in the Bar Toilet Queue

In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an unusual incident. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not important. The attending party were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A lost session was had by all. Fine fare, fine drink and unexpectedly humorous tales about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this could be, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a shared procession simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A handy measure for any modern community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

Back in my line, I endeavoured to get some male camaraderie flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, isn't it chaps?”

Someone chuckled, a second appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more example of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. Someone came out, zipping up. The group shuffled up a position. A couple more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A woman glided out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not censure her.