A Truly Revelatory Incident in the Public House Restroom Procession

Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an unusual situation. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The attending party were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Strange Predicament

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A wasted daytime was had by all. Nice food, nice libations and unexpectedly amusing stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the time arrived for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it became my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Taste of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am acutely aware that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on both small talk or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a common queue only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any modern society would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

Back in my line, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an disagreeable difference, right lads?”

A fellow chuckled, another appeared confused, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet reigned. An individual came out, zipping up. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A female wafted out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to express an understanding of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not censure her.