An Illuminating Experience in the Pub Toilet Line

Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary situation. I believe it did me good. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The attending party were exclusively male, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, good libations and unexpectedly entertaining stories about oral health. As expected, the point arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space 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 line knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women glide through the entrance while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is restricted to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks later that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to queue in a public line simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A handy metric for any modern society would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

Back in my queue, I attempted to get some friendly chat started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this makes an irksome variation, right chaps?”

A fellow smiled, someone else appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. An individual emerged, zipping up. The queue moved forward a spot. Another two men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Exchange

A lady emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I could give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t blame her.