An Illuminating Experience in the Public House Toilet Queue
Just before Christmas, I encountered an remarkable situation. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a gathering of several mates, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not relevant. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which is key.
An Unfamiliar Predicament
The establishment was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A lost session was shared by the group. Good food, good beverages and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the point came for trips to the gents. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it became my turn, everything was revealed.
Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line knew.
A Sample of Everyday Life
To be perfectly clear, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I seen women waiting in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?
Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was profoundly bracing to have a sample of it myself, observing the women breeze through the door while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my mates, fiddling at something we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.
The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter
There’s a complete conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.
About this topic I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional exasperated look and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to break out.
If I was a woman, I’d not spend a moment on both niceties or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to stand in a public line simply for the opportunity to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure injustice of it. A useful measure for any modern society would be equal waiting times in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for studies on this.
Male Banter in the Line
Back in my line, I tried to get some brotherly banter started about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something along the lines of: “Well, this is an unpleasant change, doesn’t it lads?”
A fellow smiled, someone else appeared confused, a third individual appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men entered the back of it. I let out a breath.
A Silent Interaction
A female emerged out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to convey recognition of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the time.”
Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not censure her.
