An Revelatory Encounter in the Pub Toilet Procession

Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I feel it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The assembled party were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, fine beverages and unexpectedly entertaining anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the moment dawned for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for females, having to queue to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on both niceties or reticence. If I was forced, time and again, to wait in a common queue simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A handy measure for any civilised society would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie flowing about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and said something along the lines of: “So, this is an unpleasant change, right boys?”

Someone grinned, a second appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a position. Another two men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A female glided out of the next-door toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t censure her.