A Genuinely Revelatory Experience in the Pub Toilet Queue

In the run-up to Christmas, I had an unusual incident. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The assembled group were all blokes, which proves to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a tavern doing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was had by all. Nice fare, fine drink and surprisingly amusing anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the point came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it came to my go, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. How many times have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is restricted to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations subsequently that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on both niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a shared procession merely for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any modern community would be balanced access in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Chat in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I tried to initiate some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant change, isn't it lads?”

Someone chuckled, someone else looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. Someone emerged, zipping up. The queue advanced a place. A couple more men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A female glided out of the adjacent facility, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. 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 courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t fault her.