An Revelatory Incident in the Pub Toilet Procession
Just before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable incident. I believe it did me good. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not important. The assembled party were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.
An Unfamiliar Predicament
The venue was a pub/restaurant experiencing a roaring trade. A forgotten afternoon was had by all. Good food, fine beverages and surprisingly entertaining tales about oral health. Naturally, the point dawned for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.
Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line were accustomed to.
An Experience of Everyday Life
Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women queuing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?
Apart from the annoyance of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the entrance while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our handsets.
The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat
There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Females, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.
Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the occasional eye roll and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s only at the washbasins later that conversation tends to begin.
Were I a woman, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to queue in a public line only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.
Male Banter in the Queue
Returning to my queue, I tried to get some male camaraderie started about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and said something like: “Well, this represents an unpleasant variation, doesn’t it chaps?”
Someone grinned, a second appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. Someone came out, zipping up. The queue moved forward a spot. Another two men took a place at the back of it. I sighed.
A Silent Moment
A female emerged out of the next-door restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was just fine for some. I grinned apologetically at her, attempting to convey acknowledgement of this upside-down situation. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”
Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly could not blame her.