An Revelatory Experience in the Public House Toilet Line

Just before the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't important. The present crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

A Novel Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery doing a excellent custom. A wasted afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, fine libations and remarkably amusing anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the point came for trips to the male facilities. Those who went, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it became me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting 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 gathering were accustomed to.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging small talk and an engaging observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on both niceties or silence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a common queue merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A valuable measure for any advanced culture would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter started about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “So, this is an unpleasant change, right boys?”

A fellow grinned, a second appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. An individual emerged, zipping up. The queue moved forward a position. Another two men joined the back of it. I sighed.

A Silent Interaction

A female wafted out of the next-door facility, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I may give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not censure her.