An Revelatory Encounter in the Pub Toilet Procession

Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an remarkable situation. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but it's not relevant. The present party were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Situation

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine fare, good libations and remarkably entertaining tales about dentistry. Naturally, the moment dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I presume, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a public line only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised community would be balanced access in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

Back in my line, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie going about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this makes an unpleasant difference, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a position. A couple more men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Exchange

A female glided out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to convey an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not blame her.