A Genuinely Revelatory Encounter in the Bar Lavatory Procession

In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an unusual incident. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but it's not relevant. The attending group were exclusively male, which is significant.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, fine drink and unexpectedly amusing stories about teeth. Naturally, the point dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it came to my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some female friends of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the sinks later that chat tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on either niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a shared procession only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful metric for any advanced culture would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

Back in my line, I tried to get some male camaraderie going about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable variation, right boys?”

A fellow smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a spot. Another two men entered the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female glided out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the time of day.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.