An Revelatory Experience in the Public House Lavatory Queue

In the run-up to Christmas, I experienced an unusual episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not important. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which is key.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, good libations and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the point arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I partially registered, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any woman here. I am fully aware that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in small talk and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d refrain from on either niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to wait in a public line merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A handy measure for any civilised culture would be balanced access in wee queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Banter in the Line

Back in my queue, I attempted to get some friendly chat going about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this makes an irksome variation, isn't it boys?”

Someone smiled, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The queue moved forward a place. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A female emerged out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not fault her.