🔗 Share this article

Shortly before Christmas, I had an unusual episode. I think it proved instructive. This took place at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but it's not relevant. The present group were solely men, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant enjoying a excellent custom. A wasted session was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, good drink and unexpectedly entertaining anecdotes about teeth. Naturally, the point dawned for trips to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on why this was, but when it became me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all 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 were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am acutely aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

Apart from the hassle of needing to wait to use a facility, there’s a tinge of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women glide through the entrance while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Females, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, sharing pleasantries and an interesting insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the occasional eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

If I was a female, I’d waste no time on either niceties or reticence. If I was forced, over and over, to wait in a shared procession simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter inequity of it. A useful measure for any modern society would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

During my time in my queue, I attempted to get some friendly chat flowing about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an unpleasant difference, right chaps?”

A fellow grinned, a second looked blank, a other man looked sheepish. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, silence prevailed. A man came out, zipping up. The queue moved forward a spot. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Exchange

A lady glided out of the next-door facility, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, attempting to convey recognition of this upside-down scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and then I could give you the time.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say a word. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.