An Revelatory Encounter in the Pub Lavatory Line
In the run-up to Christmas, I had an remarkable episode. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not important. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.
A Strange Situation
The location was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was enjoyed by everyone. Fine food, nice beverages and remarkably amusing anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the time dawned for visits to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it became my turn, all became clear.
Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.
A Sample of Common Reality
To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?
Apart from the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was obliged to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.
The Practice of Restroom Line Conversation
There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an notable insight or two.
About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue communication is restricted to the occasional exasperated look and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to start up.
Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both small talk or reticence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to stand in a shared procession merely for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A useful benchmark for any advanced society would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m researching research on this.
Male Banter in the Line
Back in my queue, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something like: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it chaps?”
Someone chuckled, a second appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness reigned. A man emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue shuffled up a position. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.
An Unspoken Exchange
A woman glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I could give you the courtesy.”
Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not censure her.