Shortly before the holidays, I had an unusual situation. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but thatās not relevant. The attending party were solely men, which proves to be relevant.
The location was a tavern experiencing a brisk business. A lost daytime was had by all. Good food, fine libations and remarkably amusing anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the time came for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it became my go, everything was revealed.
Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the womenās toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.
To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?
Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, thereās a tinge of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men usually donāt have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the women breeze through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my companions, fiddling at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our phones.
Thereās a complete form of small talk here ā toilet queue chitchat ā of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable insight or two.
Regarding this Iāve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the occasional weary glance and the comment: āFuck this, Iām going to use the gents'.ā A colleague informed me itās only at the sinks afterwards that chat tends to start up.
Had I been a female, Iād waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, Iād vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any modern community would be gender parity in wee lining-up periods. Iām researching research on this.
Back in my queue, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie started about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: āWell, this makes an unpleasant change, right boys?ā
Someone smiled, another looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a position. Another two men entered the end of it. I sighed.
A lady glided out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She said: āDon't come to me for support, you blighter. Reappear when youāve done this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the courtesy.ā
In reality, she did not utter that. She didnāt say anything. But I believe thatās what she was feeling. And I truly wouldnāt censure her.
Elara is a writer and life coach passionate about sharing stories of transformation and resilience.
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