A Genuinely Illuminating Experience in the Public House Restroom Line

Just before Christmas, I had an extraordinary episode. I think it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were solely men, which proves to be key.

A Novel Situation

The location was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was had by all. Nice fare, good libations and surprisingly entertaining stories about oral health. As expected, the time dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it became my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue recognised.

A Taste of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely cognizant that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a line while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

In addition to the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about standing there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to wait patiently with others with my mates, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a entire conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is limited to the rare weary glance and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that chat tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a shared procession simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure inequity of it. A handy metric for any advanced culture would be balanced access in urination lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Interaction in the Procession

Back in my line, I attempted to get some friendly chat going about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow smiled, someone else appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of broken Britain, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. Someone emerged, zipping up. The line advanced a spot. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I may give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t fault her.