An Eye-Opening Encounter in the Pub Restroom Queue

In the run-up to the holidays, I had an extraordinary episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but that’s not relevant. The assembled party were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A lost daytime was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, nice drink and remarkably entertaining anecdotes about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it came to my turn, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is standard practice. How many times have I seen women queuing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate told me it’s merely at the washbasins later that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a shared procession simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any advanced community would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I tried to get some friendly chat flowing about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “So, this is an unpleasant variation, right boys?”

A fellow grinned, another looked blank, a third looked sheepish. A further person shook his head as if this was yet another example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The line shuffled up a position. A couple more men entered the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and only then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.