A Genuinely Revelatory Encounter in the Public House Toilet Line

Shortly before Christmas, I had an unusual incident. I believe it did me good. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The present party were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was had by all. Good cuisine, fine beverages and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the moment dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it became my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, watching the other sex glide through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to wait in a public line only for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

During my time in my line, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow smiled, another seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. An individual emerged, zipping up. The queue advanced a spot. Another two men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female glided out of the adjacent facility, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and at that point I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly wouldn’t censure her.