A Truly Illuminating Incident in the Public House Restroom Queue

Shortly before the holidays, I had an unusual episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The assembled group were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Nice fare, good libations and remarkably entertaining tales about teeth. Naturally, the moment dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who went, I partially registered, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate the reason this might have been, but when it was my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently with others with my companions, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue communication is limited to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that conversation tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced culture would be balanced access in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

Back in my line, I attempted to get some male camaraderie started about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome change, doesn’t it boys?”

A fellow smiled, a second appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. A man came out, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men took a place at the rear of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this reversed state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She didn’t say anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not fault her.