An Eye-Opening Experience in the Pub Restroom Procession

Just before the festive season, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I think it was beneficial for me. This happened at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but it's not relevant. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A lost daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Nice food, fine libations and remarkably humorous stories about oral health. Naturally, the moment arrived for excursions to the gents. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, appeared to be away a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the women breeze through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully in line with my mates, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks later that chat tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a public line simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any modern society would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to get some male camaraderie started about this new circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “So, this represents an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. A man emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group shuffled up a place. Two more men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the time.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t blame her.