A Truly Eye-Opening Incident in the Pub Lavatory Procession

Shortly before Christmas, I had an remarkable situation. I believe it did me good. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not pertinent. The present party were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten session was had by all. Good food, fine libations and unexpectedly amusing tales about oral health. As expected, the moment came for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it came to my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A useful benchmark for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I tried to initiate some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something like: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable change, isn't it lads?”

Someone chuckled, a second looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was a further example of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone emerged, zipping up. The line shuffled up a position. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A female glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was all right for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to communicate an understanding of this reversed situation. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not blame her.