A Truly Illuminating Encounter in the Pub Lavatory Line

Just before the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The attending group were all blokes, which is relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice cuisine, good drink and remarkably amusing anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the point came for visits to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it was my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a shared procession only for the chance to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A handy benchmark for any modern community would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “Well, this is an irksome change, isn't it boys?”

A fellow grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a position. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A lady emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and then I might give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really could not censure her.