🔗 Share this article

Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an unusual episode. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but this isn't relevant. The present group were exclusively male, which turns out to be significant.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted session was had by all. Nice cuisine, fine beverages and unexpectedly humorous tales about teeth. Naturally, the moment came for trips to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, looked to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

Rounding the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this queue recognised.

A Sample of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect sympathy from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for women, being forced to wait to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I observed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly sobering to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women glide through the portal while I was obliged to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, angling away at something we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Women, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line dialogue is confined to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d refrain from on both small talk or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a shared procession simply for the chance to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A valuable measure for any advanced society would be balanced access in urination waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Banter in the Procession

Back in my queue, I attempted to get some friendly chat started about this new situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and remarked something like: “Ah, this is an unpleasant difference, isn't it boys?”

A fellow chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual appeared embarrassed. A further person rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, woke madness etc. Aside from that, stillness ensued. A man came out, zipping up. The group shuffled up a place. A couple more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I truly would not blame her.