An Illuminating Incident in the Public House Restroom Procession

In the run-up to the festive season, I encountered an remarkable situation. I feel it did me good. This happened at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't relevant. The attending group were solely men, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, nice beverages and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the moment dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it was me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about lingering there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the door while I was obliged to wait patiently with others with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little familiarity. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, sharing small talk and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is limited to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate told me it’s only at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a public line merely for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any modern community would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Male Banter in the Line

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to spark some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “Well, this represents an unpleasant variation, isn't it lads?”

Someone grinned, another appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more example of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence prevailed. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The queue advanced a place. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and then I could give you the time.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really would not censure her.