🔗 Share this article

Shortly before the festive season, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were exclusively male, which is significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A forgotten session was had by all. Good fare, fine drink and remarkably humorous stories about teeth. Naturally, the moment arrived for visits to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a long time. I didn’t dwell on the reason this could be, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

A Taste of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women waiting in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the hassle of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex walk straight through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging small talk and an interesting observation or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the odd weary glance and the utterance: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A workmate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

Were I a female, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a public line simply for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like crazy at the pure injustice of it. A valuable benchmark for any modern society would be equal waiting times in wee lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Line

During my time in my queue, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie flowing about this new situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Ah, this is an disagreeable variation, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow smiled, someone else appeared confused, a other man seemed awkward. Another rolled his eyes as if this was yet another symptom of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The group shuffled up a spot. Another two men entered the rear of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Moment

A lady glided out of the neighbouring toilet, all clean and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, endeavouring to express an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and at that point I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not fault her.