A Truly Eye-Opening Encounter in the Public House Lavatory Procession

In the run-up to the festive season, I had an unusual episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The present party were exclusively male, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Nice fare, fine libations and surprisingly amusing stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it was my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any woman here. I am fully conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my fellow fellas, fiddling at whatever we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I presume, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that queue-based interaction is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A handy measure for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

Back in my wait, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “So, this makes an irksome variation, isn't it boys?”

Someone grinned, someone else appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a position. Two more men joined the end of it. I sighed.

An Unspoken Moment

A female emerged out of the next-door facility, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed situation. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.