An Revelatory Experience in the Pub Toilet Queue

Shortly before the holidays, I experienced an remarkable episode. I think it did me good. This happened at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled party were exclusively male, which is key.

A Novel Scenario

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Good cuisine, fine libations and remarkably amusing stories about teeth. As expected, the point dawned for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to me next, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am obviously aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I surmise, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in small talk and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the rare eye roll and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on both small talk or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a public line only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised society would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my queue, I attempted to get some friendly chat flowing about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this is an irksome variation, right chaps?”

Someone chuckled, someone else looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person shook his head as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness reigned. A man exited, zipping up. The line advanced a place. A couple more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A female wafted out of the next-door toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t blame her.