An Revelatory Incident in the Bar Restroom Procession
In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an remarkable incident. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not relevant. The present party were exclusively male, which is key.
A Novel Scenario
The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, fine libations and remarkably amusing anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the point arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it came to me next, all became clear.
I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.
A Sample of the Norm
Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?
Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.
The Art of Restroom Line Conversation
There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable comment or two.
About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line dialogue is limited to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the sinks later that discussion tends to begin.
If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on either niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A useful metric for any advanced culture would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out research on this.
Male Chat in the Line
Returning to my line, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter going about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome change, right boys?”
Someone smiled, another looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. Someone exited, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a spot. A couple more men entered the end of it. I sighed.
An Unspoken Exchange
A woman emerged out of the adjacent facility, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the courtesy.”
Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.
