🔗 Share this article An Illuminating Encounter in the Pub Lavatory Queue Shortly before the festive season, I had an remarkable episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dental professionals, but that’s not pertinent. The present crowd were all blokes, which proves to be key. A Strange Scenario The establishment was a pub/restaurant experiencing a brisk business. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good fare, fine libations and remarkably humorous anecdotes about dentistry. Naturally, the point dawned for excursions to the gents. Those who went, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved. Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this queue were accustomed to. A Sample of Everyday Life Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for sympathy from any female reader here. I am acutely cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing? Beyond the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women glide through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets. The Genre of Lavatory Queue Banter There’s a complete style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an engaging comment or two. On this I’ve asked some female friends of my circle. The consensus is that queue-based interaction is limited to the occasional eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to start up. Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on both small talk or quiet. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A valuable measure for any advanced culture would be gender parity in wee queue durations. I’m researching research on this. Comradely Chat in the Line Back in my wait, I attempted to spark some brotherly banter started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Ah, this represents an irksome change, right lads?” One person smiled, someone else appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. Someone exited, fastening his trousers. The line advanced a spot. A couple more men joined the back of it. I exhaled. A Silent Exchange A lady emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and then I may give you the time of day.” In reality, she never spoke that. She said a word. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not fault her.