An Eye-Opening Experience in the Pub Lavatory Line

Shortly before Christmas, I experienced an unusual episode. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled group were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Nice food, nice beverages and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the time arrived for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for ladies, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my mates, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some women of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based communication is limited to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or silence. If I was forced, time and again, to stand in a common queue simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced community would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

Returning to my wait, I tried to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, isn't it chaps?”

One person grinned, a second looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of a failing society, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a place. Two more men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A woman wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not blame her.