🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to the festive season, I had an unusual incident. I think it did me good. This happened at a meeting of a group of longtime companions, who happen to be dentists, but that’s not relevant. The present party were exclusively male, which proves to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Scenario

The establishment was a bar and eatery doing a brisk business. A lost daytime was had by all. Good food, nice libations and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about oral health. As expected, the point arrived for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, appeared to be absent a significant period. I didn’t dwell on the reason this might have been, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. No queue at all for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering knew.

A Sample of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any female reader here. I am fully aware that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. Repeatedly have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

In addition to the inconvenience of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a hint of embarrassment about waiting there, anticipating something that men usually don’t have to wait for. It was truly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex walk straight through the portal while I was compelled to wait patiently in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our handsets.

The Art of Lavatory Queue Banter

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal familiarity. Females, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the rare weary glance and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate informed me it’s only at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a woman, I’d refrain from on both small talk or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the utter injustice of it. A handy measure for any advanced society would be equal waiting times in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out research on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Queue

Back in my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some male camaraderie started about this novel situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an disagreeable change, doesn’t it lads?”

A fellow chuckled, someone else seemed nonplussed, a third looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was yet another symptom of broken Britain, political correctness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. Someone came out, zipping up. The group moved forward a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A female glided out of the adjacent toilet, all fragrant and relaxed. It was all right for some. I smiled bashfully at her, trying to communicate an understanding of this reversed scenario. She said: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Come back when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and then I might give you the time of day.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I know that’s what she was feeling. And I really wouldn’t blame her.