An Illuminating Encounter in the Bar Restroom Line
In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an unusual episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't important. The attending party were solely men, which is key.
A Strange Scenario
The venue was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, good libations and unexpectedly entertaining tales about teeth. Inevitably, the point arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.
Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.
A Sample of Everyday Life
Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any lady here. I am acutely 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 no such thing?
Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.
The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat
There’s a entire form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable comment or two.
On this I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line communication is confined to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the sinks afterwards that discussion tends to begin.
If I was a female, I’d waste no time on either small talk or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to stand in a common queue simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any modern society would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.
Comradely Chat in the Procession
During my time in my line, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant change, isn't it boys?”
Someone chuckled, a second looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. Two more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.
An Unspoken Exchange
A lady wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time.”
Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not blame her.
