In the run-up to the holidays, I had an remarkable incident. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled party were solely men, which proves to be key.
An Unfamiliar Scenario
The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, fine drink and unexpectedly amusing tales about teeth. As expected, the time came for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it became me next, the mystery was solved.
Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.
An Experience of the Norm
To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?
Apart from the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.
The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat
There’s a entire conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable comment or two.
On this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to start up.
Were I a female, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a common queue only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.
Brotherly Interaction in the Procession
Returning to my queue, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “Well, this is an irksome difference, isn't it boys?”
One person smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of a failing society, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet prevailed. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a spot. Two more men entered the end of it. I sighed.
An Unspoken Moment
A woman wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”
Actually, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not fault her.
