Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The attending group were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.
A Strange Scenario
The location was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was shared by the group. Good fare, good beverages and surprisingly humorous stories about oral health. As expected, the moment came for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be away a significant period. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it came to me next, all became clear.
Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.
An Experience of the Norm
To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?
Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and checking our phones.
The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter
There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.
About this topic I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is confined to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to break out.
Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on either niceties or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any advanced society would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.
Male Chat in the Procession
Back in my line, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this is an irksome variation, right chaps?”
A fellow chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet prevailed. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a position. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.
An Unspoken Interaction
A woman wafted out of the adjacent facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express recognition of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the courtesy.”
Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.
