🔗 Share this article A Genuinely Revelatory Incident in the Pub Toilet Procession Just before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable episode. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who happen to be tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The present party were all blokes, which turns out to be significant. A Strange Predicament The establishment was a bar and eatery experiencing a brisk business. A forgotten afternoon was shared by the group. Good food, good beverages and remarkably amusing tales about oral health. Inevitably, the time dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this might have been, but when it came to my go, all became clear. I turned the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to. A Sample of Everyday Life For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is the norm. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite? In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly bracing to have a sample of it myself, watching the women breeze through the portal while I was obliged to stand solemnly in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and consulting our mobile devices. The Art of Restroom Line Banter There’s a entire form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting observation or two. About this topic I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The prevailing view is that within-the-line interaction is limited to the occasional weary glance and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the sinks subsequently that chat tends to begin. If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to queue in a public line merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A handy metric for any advanced community would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m researching data on this. Comradely Banter in the Procession Returning to my line, I tried to get some brotherly banter going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this is an irksome change, isn't it chaps?” A fellow grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a place. A couple more men joined the rear of it. I sighed. A Silent Interaction A lady emerged out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve done this another hundred times and only then I may give you the courtesy.” Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not censure her.