🔗 Share this article

Shortly before Christmas, I had an unusual incident. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens dentists, but it's not relevant. The assembled crowd were exclusively male, which proves to be key.

A Strange Scenario

The location was a pub/restaurant enjoying a brisk business. A wasted daytime was had by all. Good cuisine, nice libations and surprisingly amusing anecdotes about oral health. Inevitably, the point arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a significant period. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it became my turn, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a sizeable procession for the men's restroom. An empty space for the women’s toilet, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for women, having to queue to use a convenience is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a line while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the hassle of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the opposite gender glide through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, angling away at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant familiarity. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an interesting comment or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that intra-queue communication is confined to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Screw this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s merely at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession simply for the chance to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A handy metric for any civilised society would be gender parity in wee lining-up periods. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Back in my line, I tried to get some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Ah, this makes an irksome change, right boys?”

One person grinned, a second seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Another shook his head as if this was a further example of a failing society, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. A man came out, zipping up. The queue advanced a spot. Two more men joined the rear of it. I let out a breath.

A Knowing Moment

A lady wafted out of the next-door restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was all right for some. I beamed apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey acknowledgement of this topsy-turvy situation. Her response was: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you jerk. Come back when you’ve endured this another hundred times and then I may give you the time.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She said a word. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly could not blame her.