🔗 Share this article

Just before Christmas, I had an extraordinary episode. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not relevant. The attending crowd were solely men, which is relevant.

A Novel Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Good cuisine, good libations and remarkably entertaining stories about oral health. Naturally, the time arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this was, but when it became my go, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any female reader here. I am obviously aware that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a whole form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing polite remarks and an engaging comment or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the occasional weary glance and the comment: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to break out.

Had I been a female, I’d refrain from on both niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to stand in a shared procession merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern society would be balanced access in toilet queue durations. I’m researching research on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Queue

During my time in my queue, I attempted to get some friendly chat started about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something along the lines of: “Ah, this represents an irksome difference, isn't it boys?”

Someone grinned, another appeared confused, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness reigned. A man came out, zipping up. The line moved forward a place. Two more men entered the rear of it. I sighed.

A Silent Moment

A lady wafted out of the neighbouring toilet, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for support, 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 said a word. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not fault her.