A Genuinely Illuminating Encounter in the Public House Lavatory Line

Shortly before Christmas, I experienced an unusual incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't relevant. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Good food, nice beverages and unexpectedly amusing stories about oral health. Naturally, the moment dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the women breeze through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little experience. Women, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the sinks later that chat tends to start up.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a public line only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable metric for any civilised culture would be gender parity in urination queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Comradely Banter in the Queue

During my time in my line, I attempted to get some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “So, this represents an unpleasant variation, isn't it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was a further example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. Someone came out, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A woman emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not censure her.