🔗 Share this article

Shortly before the holidays, I had an unusual situation. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of several mates, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not pertinent. The assembled group were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant experiencing a excellent custom. A forgotten afternoon was shared by the group. Fine food, nice libations and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the time arrived for trips to the men's room. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this could be, but when it became my go, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the women’s toilet, 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.

A Sample of the Norm

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am obviously conscious that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a convenience is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the comparable place have to do no such thing?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a convenience, there’s a hint of humiliation about standing there, waiting for something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the door while I was compelled to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Women, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, exchanging pleasantries and an interesting observation or two.

Regarding this I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that queue-based communication is restricted to the occasional weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s only at the sinks later that conversation tends to break out.

If I was a lady, I’d waste no time on either niceties or reticence. If I was obliged, repeatedly, to stand in a public line merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure unfairness of it. A handy metric for any civilised society would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m looking for research on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I tried to get some brotherly banter started about this new circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “So, this represents an disagreeable change, right chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, another looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness reigned. A man came out, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a spot. Two more men took a place at the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady emerged out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, trying to express recognition of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and at that point I could give you the time.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She uttered nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly would not fault her.