🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to Christmas, I had an extraordinary situation. I believe it did me good. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be tooth doctors, but it's not important. The attending crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The venue was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A lost session was shared by the group. Nice food, nice beverages and remarkably amusing tales about dentistry. As expected, the time dawned for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it was my turn, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a great long one for the gents'. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect empathy from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for women, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about standing there, awaiting something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, watching the other sex walk straight through the door while I was forced to stand solemnly in line with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our handsets.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Ladies, I surmise, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, exchanging pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that chat tends to start up.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on both pleasantries or silence. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a common queue merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the pure unfairness of it. A handy benchmark for any modern community would be balanced access in urination queue durations. I’m researching studies on this.

Male Interaction in the Line

During my time in my line, I tried to initiate some male camaraderie started about this new state of affairs of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Ah, this makes an disagreeable variation, doesn’t it chaps?”

One person chuckled, another seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more example of a failing society, political correctness etc. Aside from that, stillness prevailed. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The group advanced a place. Another two men joined the rear of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Moment

A lady emerged out of the next-door restroom, all fresh and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, trying to express an understanding of this topsy-turvy situation. She said: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She uttered nothing. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I honestly would not blame her.