🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to Christmas, I had an extraordinary incident. I believe it was beneficial for me. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who are incidentally dental professionals, but that’s not relevant. The assembled group were all blokes, which is significant.

A Novel Scenario

The location was a bar and eatery experiencing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was shared by the group. Fine food, fine drink and surprisingly humorous stories about teeth. Inevitably, the time came for excursions to the gents. Those who departed, I half-noticed, seemed to be absent a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this might have been, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for women, having to queue to use a restroom is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

Beyond the inconvenience of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, angling away at something we had in our pockets and consulting our mobile devices.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have little experience. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is confined to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague mentioned it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on both small talk or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a common queue only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the pure unfairness of it. A valuable benchmark for any civilised community would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

Returning to my queue, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat going about this novel state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something along the lines of: “So, this is an irksome change, isn't it boys?”

One person smiled, another looked blank, a third individual looked sheepish. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of modern woes, political correctness etc. Otherwise, stillness prevailed. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a place. Another two men took a place at the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Silent Interaction

A female wafted out of the next-door facility, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. She remarked: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered a word. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t censure her.