An Illuminating Incident in the Pub Toilet Procession

In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an remarkable episode. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The assembled group were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Good cuisine, good beverages and remarkably amusing tales about oral health. As expected, the moment dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it was my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my companions, angling away at something we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this is an disagreeable variation, right boys?”

A fellow smiled, someone else looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a spot. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady emerged out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to convey recognition of this upside-down state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.