🔗 Share this article

Just before the festive season, I encountered an unusual incident. I feel it did me good. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not relevant. The assembled group were all blokes, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A wasted afternoon was had by all. Fine food, nice libations and unexpectedly amusing stories about dentistry. Naturally, the time came for visits to the gents. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it was my turn, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a long queue for the men's restroom. No queue at all for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for pity from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a convenience is the norm. How many times have I seen women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was truly bracing to get a taste of it myself, watching the opposite gender breeze through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my companions, angling away at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a entire form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I imagine, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an interesting comment or two.

On this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a woman, I’d refrain from on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to wait in a common queue only for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A valuable benchmark for any advanced culture would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for studies on this.

Male Chat in the Procession

During my time in my queue, I attempted to get some brotherly banter going about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant difference, doesn’t it lads?”

Someone chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, quiet reigned. An individual came out, zipping up. The line advanced a position. A couple more men joined the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A female emerged out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, attempting to express acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. She remarked: “Don’t look to me for support, you blighter. Come back when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I might give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly would not censure her.