🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary situation. I feel it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of some old friends, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but that’s not pertinent. The attending group were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

A Strange Situation

The location was a pub/restaurant doing a brisk business. A forgotten session was enjoyed by everyone. Nice fare, good beverages and unexpectedly amusing stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the time came for trips to the gents. Those who departed, I partially registered, looked to be away a considerable while. I didn't contemplate the reason this was, but when it was my go, everything was revealed.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gentlemen’s toilet. An empty space for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering recognised.

An Experience of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I am not asking for empathy from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for women, needing to line up to use a convenience is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women waiting in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do the opposite?

In addition to the hassle of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of indignity about standing there, awaiting something that men usually don’t have to experience. It was profoundly bracing to experience a dose of it myself, watching the opposite gender walk straight through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, angling away at anything we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal familiarity. Ladies, I imagine, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an interesting comment or two.

On this I’ve asked some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The consensus is that queue-based dialogue is confined to the rare eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s exclusively at the washbasins later that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a lady, I’d waste no time on either small talk or silence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a common queue simply for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d express my fury like crazy at the sheer inequity of it. A useful metric for any modern community would be gender parity in toilet queue durations. I’m researching data on this.

Male Banter in the Procession

During my time in my line, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie going about this novel situation of ours. I sighed a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something along the lines of: “Ah, this makes an unpleasant difference, right boys?”

One person grinned, someone else seemed nonplussed, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence ensued. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a spot. A couple more men joined the end of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A female glided out of the neighbouring facility, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed apologetically at her, attempting to convey recognition of this upside-down scenario. She said: “Don't come to me for solidarity, you blighter. Return when you’ve experienced this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She uttered nothing. But I believe that’s what she was feeling. And I really could not censure her.