An Illuminating Incident in the Public House Restroom Queue

Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not pertinent. The attending group were solely men, which is relevant.

A Strange Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was shared by the group. Fine food, good beverages and unexpectedly entertaining stories about teeth. Inevitably, the moment arrived for trips to the gents. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I observed women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the women breeze through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in line with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A handy measure for any modern community would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m researching data on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my line, I attempted to get some brotherly banter flowing about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this represents an irksome change, right boys?”

One person smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. Someone came out, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a spot. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A lady glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not fault her.