An Revelatory Encounter in the Pub Restroom Procession
In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an remarkable incident. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but it's not important. The attending party were exclusively male, which proves to be key.
A Novel Situation
The establishment was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A lost session was shared by the group. Good food, fine drink and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the point dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it came to me next, all became clear.
Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.
A Sample of the Norm
For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for women, needing to line up to use a restroom is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?
Apart from the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our phones.
The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation
There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in small talk and an notable comment or two.
On this I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is limited to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks later that conversation tends to start up.
If I was a woman, I’d waste no time on either small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a shared procession simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A useful measure for any civilised culture would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m researching data on this.
Brotherly Banter in the Queue
Back in my queue, I attempted to get some male camaraderie flowing about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “Well, this makes an unpleasant difference, isn't it lads?”
One person grinned, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The group moved forward a position. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.
An Unspoken Moment
A woman wafted out of the next-door facility, all clean and unhurried. It was all right for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, trying to express acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”
Truthfully, she never spoke that. She didn’t say anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not fault her.
