A Genuinely Illuminating Encounter in the Pub Restroom Queue

Just before the holidays, I experienced an remarkable episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not important. The attending group were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a roaring trade. A wasted session was shared by the group. Nice fare, nice drink and surprisingly humorous stories about dentistry. Naturally, the moment dawned for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to have a sample of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly with others with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and checking our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter unfairness of it. A useful metric for any modern society would be gender parity in wee lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “So, this is an unpleasant difference, isn't it chaps?”

Someone smiled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a position. A couple more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Exchange

A lady wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to express an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not fault her.