🔗 Share this article

Just before Christmas, I experienced an remarkable situation. I feel it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not important. The assembled crowd were solely men, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Predicament

The location was a bar and eatery enjoying a roaring trade. A lost session was had by all. Nice fare, nice drink and surprisingly humorous anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the point dawned for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't ponder why this could be, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

I turned the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This wasn’t a world any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of the Norm

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am obviously conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I seen women waiting in a line while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the annoyance of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to get a taste of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to line up dutifully with others with my mates, looking distractedly at something we had in our pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my knowledge. The consensus is that queue-based communication is restricted to the odd exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A associate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or quiet. If I was obliged, time and again, to queue in a public line simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A useful benchmark for any modern community would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Chat in the Line

During my time in my queue, I tried to spark some brotherly banter going about this novel circumstance of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and remarked something to the effect of: “Ah, this represents an unpleasant change, isn't it chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, another appeared confused, a third appeared embarrassed. Another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of a failing society, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a position. Another two men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A lady wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this topsy-turvy scenario. She remarked: “Don't come to me for sympathy, you blighter. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time of day.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said anything. But I believe that’s what she was thinking. And I honestly wouldn’t fault her.