A Truly Illuminating Experience in the Public House Lavatory Queue

In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an remarkable situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't important. The attending party were all blokes, which is key.

A Strange Situation

The location was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, fine libations and remarkably entertaining stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the point dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am obviously aware that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to have a sample of it myself, watching the women breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my companions, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on both niceties or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to queue in a shared procession simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat flowing about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “So, this represents an irksome variation, right boys?”

A fellow chuckled, a second appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a position. Two more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman glided out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, attempting to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not blame her.