A Truly Revelatory Encounter in the Public House Lavatory Queue

Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an remarkable episode. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The assembled crowd were solely men, which is key.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a excellent custom. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Good cuisine, fine beverages and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the time came for visits to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my companions, angling away at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I presume, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both niceties or quiet. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a public line only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A useful metric for any advanced community would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Male Banter in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I attempted to initiate some friendly chat going about this novel circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “So, this makes an irksome change, isn't it chaps?”

Someone chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. Someone came out, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a place. A couple more men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A woman wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not censure her.