A Genuinely Eye-Opening Encounter in the Pub Lavatory Procession

In the run-up to Christmas, I encountered an remarkable episode. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but this isn't important. The attending party were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Predicament

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Fine cuisine, fine libations and unexpectedly humorous tales about teeth. As expected, the point arrived for visits to the men's room. Those who went, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a substantial line for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for ladies, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

In addition to the inconvenience of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of humiliation about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the other sex glide through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my companions, fiddling at something we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing polite remarks and an notable observation or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Were I a lady, I’d waste no time on either small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue merely for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter inequity of it. A useful metric for any advanced community would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out research on this.

Male Chat in the Queue

Back in my wait, I tried to spark some brotherly banter flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an irksome variation, isn't it lads?”

One person chuckled, someone else appeared confused, a third looked sheepish. Another rolled his eyes as if this was a further example of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, silence prevailed. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and only then I may give you the time.”

Truthfully, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not censure her.

James Shepherd
James Shepherd

A seasoned business strategist with over a decade of experience in digital marketing and corporate growth initiatives.