A Truly Revelatory Encounter in the Public House Toilet Queue

Shortly before the festive season, I had an remarkable situation. I feel it did me good. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The present group were solely men, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Nice food, nice beverages and unexpectedly humorous stories about oral health. As expected, the moment came for visits to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line knew.

A Taste of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women standing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a public line simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A handy measure for any civilised society would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Returning to my queue, I endeavoured to get some friendly chat going about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an irksome variation, isn't it chaps?”

One person smiled, someone else appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, stillness reigned. An individual came out, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a spot. Two more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Moment

A woman emerged out of the next-door restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly could not fault her.