A Truly Revelatory Encounter in the Pub Toilet Line

In the run-up to Christmas, I had an extraordinary incident. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not relevant. The assembled group were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, fine beverages and unexpectedly entertaining anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the point came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be away a long time. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

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

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women breeze through the door while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my companions, fiddling at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

On this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my circle. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the washbasins later that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a common queue merely for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern society would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Banter in the Procession

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and said something along the lines of: “Well, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. Someone came out, zipping up. The group moved forward a place. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. 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 said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really would not blame her.