A Genuinely Revelatory Encounter in the Pub Toilet Line

In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an unusual episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The location was a tavern doing a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, nice beverages and surprisingly humorous stories about dentistry. Naturally, the moment arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, looked to be away a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue recognised.

An Experience of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a facility, there’s a tinge of indignity about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I surmise, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line communication is limited to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks later that chat tends to start up.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both niceties or reticence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a public line merely for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A useful measure for any advanced community would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

During my time in my line, I tried to get some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Ah, this is an irksome change, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man seemed awkward. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of modern woes, woke madness etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Interaction

A woman emerged out of the adjacent facility, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not blame her.