A Truly Illuminating Experience in the Pub Restroom Line

In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an remarkable episode. I believe it did me good. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but that’s not relevant. The attending group were all blokes, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a roaring trade. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, fine beverages and unexpectedly amusing stories about teeth. Naturally, the time came for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my go, 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 female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women glide through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, engaging in polite remarks and an interesting insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based dialogue is restricted to the rare eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to break out.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both small talk or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to queue in a public line only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A useful measure for any modern culture would be balanced access in toilet lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Back in my queue, I endeavoured to initiate some friendly chat started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an disagreeable change, doesn’t it boys?”

One person smiled, a second appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another example of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Otherwise, quiet ensued. A man came out, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a place. Another two men entered the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady wafted out of the next-door facility, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve done this a hundred more times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not fault her.