A Truly Eye-Opening Experience in the Pub Restroom Queue

In the run-up to the holidays, I encountered an remarkable situation. I believe it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but this isn't relevant. The present group were exclusively male, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A lost session was had by all. Good food, fine beverages and remarkably amusing stories about oral health. Naturally, the time dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it became my turn, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of Everyday Life

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue communication is confined to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A handy measure for any modern society would be equal waiting times in urination queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

During my time in my line, I tried to get some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant change, isn't it chaps?”

One person smiled, a second appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. A further person shook his head as if this was a further example of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a place. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A woman glided out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve done this another hundred times and at that point I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly wouldn’t blame her.