A Genuinely Illuminating Encounter in the Pub Restroom Queue

Shortly before the holidays, I had an remarkable situation. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but this isn't important. The present crowd were solely men, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, nice libations and unexpectedly amusing tales about dentistry. Inevitably, the point came for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be away a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it came to my turn, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women glide through the entrance while I was forced to wait patiently in queue with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is limited to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the washbasins later that discussion tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both niceties or reticence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable measure for any advanced community would be balanced access in wee waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

Back in my wait, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie started about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something like: “So, this represents an disagreeable variation, right boys?”

Someone grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was one more example of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence ensued. Someone exited, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a position. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Moment

A lady glided out of the next-door toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Come back when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.