In the run-up to the festive season, I experienced an remarkable episode. I believe it did me good. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The assembled party were all blokes, which is significant.
A Strange Scenario
The location was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A lost session was shared by the group. Good food, fine drink and unexpectedly entertaining tales about teeth. As expected, the time came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it became me next, the mystery was solved.
Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.
A Sample of Everyday Life
For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I observed women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?
Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.
The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation
There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.
About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to break out.
Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a shared procession simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A handy metric for any advanced community would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.
Brotherly Interaction in the Queue
Returning to my queue, I tried to initiate some friendly chat flowing about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, doesn’t it boys?”
One person chuckled, another looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. An individual exited, zipping up. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men joined the back of it. I sighed.
A Silent Interaction
A female glided out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the time.”
Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not blame her.
