🔗 Share this article

Shortly before Christmas, I encountered an remarkable episode. I feel it was beneficial for me. This occurred at a meeting of some old friends, who happen to be dentists, but it's not pertinent. The attending crowd were all blokes, which is relevant.

A Novel Predicament

The establishment was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A wasted daytime was had by all. Good cuisine, good drink and unexpectedly humorous anecdotes about dentistry. As expected, the moment came for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I vaguely observed, looked to be absent a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this could be, but when it became me next, all became clear.

I turned the corner, and what should I find but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the women’s toilet, but a substantial line for the men's. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line were accustomed to.

An Experience of the Norm

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate sympathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I observed women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

Beyond the annoyance of standing in line to use a facility, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was profoundly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the entrance while I was compelled to line up dutifully in line with my companions, fiddling at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Conversation

There’s a complete form of small talk here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, exchanging polite remarks and an engaging insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve asked some women of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that queue-based communication is limited to the odd eye roll and the utterance: “Screw this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the hand-washing stations afterwards that discussion tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was forced, time and again, to stand in a public line only for the opportunity to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like nobody’s business at the utter unfairness of it. A useful measure for any modern culture would be balanced access in toilet waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Line

Back in my wait, I tried to spark some friendly chat going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and said something like: “Well, this is an irksome change, right boys?”

A fellow smiled, a second looked blank, a other man seemed awkward. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, quiet ensued. A man exited, fastening his trousers. The queue moved forward a position. Two more men entered the end of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female glided out of the adjacent toilet, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to communicate recognition of this upside-down situation. She said: “Don’t look to me for sympathy, you jerk. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was implying. And I really wouldn’t censure her.