A Genuinely Eye-Opening Incident in the Public House Restroom Queue

In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an remarkable situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The present group were solely men, which proves to be significant.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, good drink and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the moment arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it became my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a row 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 humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Females, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is limited to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on both small talk or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a common queue only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised culture would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable change, doesn’t it lads?”

One person grinned, a second looked blank, a third seemed awkward. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was one more symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a position. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A female wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not fault her.