🔗 Share this article

Just before the festive season, I had an extraordinary incident. I feel it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who are incidentally tooth doctors, but it's not important. The assembled group were solely men, which turns out to be key.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The establishment was a bar and eatery enjoying a excellent custom. A forgotten session was had by all. Fine fare, fine libations and remarkably amusing anecdotes about teeth. Inevitably, the moment dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who went, I half-noticed, looked to be away a significant period. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it was my go, the mystery was solved.

I turned the corner, and what did I discover but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting 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 line were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any lady here. I am fully aware that, for females, having to queue to use a restroom is the norm. On countless occasions have I seen women standing in a line while men in the identical venue have to do no such thing?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the door while I was obliged to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at something we had in our trouser pockets and consulting our handsets.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a whole conversational genre here – lavatory line banter – of which men have scant experience. Ladies, I presume, have developed skills to be quite proficient at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging insight or two.

About this topic I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The consensus is that intra-queue dialogue is restricted to the odd weary glance and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague informed me it’s merely at the washbasins afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, repeatedly, to stand in a common queue only for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer injustice of it. A handy benchmark for any civilised community would be equal waiting times in wee queue durations. I’m looking for data on this.

Male Banter in the Procession

Returning to my wait, I endeavoured to initiate some brotherly banter flowing about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something to the effect of: “Ah, this is an irksome change, isn't it boys?”

One person chuckled, a second seemed nonplussed, a third individual seemed awkward. Another shook his head as if this was one more example of modern woes, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness reigned. Someone emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a spot. Two more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A female wafted out of the adjacent facility, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed bashfully at her, trying to convey recognition of this topsy-turvy state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this another hundred times and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She uttered anything. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really would not blame her.