A Genuinely Revelatory Incident in the Public House Lavatory Line

Just before the holidays, I had an extraordinary situation. I feel it did me good. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The attending crowd were solely men, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted session was had by all. Good cuisine, fine libations and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the point arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it came to my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect empathy from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly with others with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a complete conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a shared procession merely for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A handy metric for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Line

During my time in my line, I tried to get some brotherly banter going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this represents an irksome difference, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person grinned, someone else appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was one more manifestation of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, silence reigned. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a position. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady glided out of the next-door toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.