An Illuminating Experience in the Pub Lavatory Procession

Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an unusual incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This took place at a gathering of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't relevant. The attending group were exclusively male, which is significant.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a tavern enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Fine fare, good libations and surprisingly entertaining tales about dentistry. Naturally, the moment came for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn't ponder why this might have been, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue knew.

A Taste of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about standing there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was truly sobering to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the entrance while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my companions, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some female friends of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the rare exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a public line simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A handy measure for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Banter in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I tried to get some friendly chat flowing about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant change, isn't it boys?”

Someone smiled, another looked blank, a third seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more symptom of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a place. A couple more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not censure her.