A Genuinely Revelatory Encounter in the Public House Lavatory Queue

In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an remarkable situation. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but it's not pertinent. The present crowd were all blokes, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Nice food, nice libations and unexpectedly entertaining tales about teeth. Naturally, the time came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it became my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men's. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of indignity about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly sobering to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, sharing small talk and an engaging observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on both niceties or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised society would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “Well, this is an irksome variation, right boys?”

A fellow grinned, a second looked blank, a third seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was a further example of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. A man came out, zipping up. The queue shuffled up a position. Two more men entered the back of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female emerged out of the next-door facility, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not blame her.