🔗 Share this article

Shortly before the holidays, I encountered an remarkable episode. I think it was beneficial for me. This took place at a meeting of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't relevant. The assembled group were all blokes, which is key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a tavern enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten daytime was shared by the group. Nice food, fine drink and surprisingly entertaining stories about dentistry. Naturally, the point came for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I half-noticed, appeared to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

Let me state unequivocally, I am not asking for pity from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I observed women waiting in a line while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender glide through the entrance while I was compelled to stand solemnly in line with my companions, angling away at something we had in our jackets and checking our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal knowledge. Women, I surmise, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some female friends of my knowledge. The consensus is that within-the-line dialogue is restricted to the rare weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the sinks later that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, over and over, to queue in a public line only for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer unfairness of it. A handy metric for any advanced culture would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out studies on this.

Comradely Chat in the Queue

Back in my line, I endeavoured to get some male camaraderie started about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something to the effect of: “Well, this represents an disagreeable difference, isn't it boys?”

A fellow smiled, another looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group advanced a spot. A couple more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Exchange

A woman glided out of the next-door facility, all fresh and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and then I might give you the time.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not fault her.