🔗 Share this article

Just before Christmas, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I think it did me good. This occurred at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but it's not important. The assembled group were solely men, which proves to be relevant.

An Unfamiliar Predicament

The establishment was a pub/restaurant enjoying a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was had by all. Nice cuisine, good libations and surprisingly entertaining stories about teeth. Inevitably, the point came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I partially registered, seemed to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this could be, but when it became me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what did I discover but a sizeable procession for the gentlemen’s toilet. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the men’s. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this line recognised.

A Sample of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I do not seek or anticipate pity from any woman here. I am acutely aware that, for ladies, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. On countless occasions have I seen women queuing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the hassle of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of humiliation about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to get a taste of it myself, observing the other sex glide through the door while I was obliged to line up dutifully with others with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little knowledge. Females, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some female friends of my knowledge. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the utterance: “Forget this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A colleague told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations subsequently that conversation tends to begin.

Had I been a woman, I’d waste no time on both small talk or silence. If I was obliged, over and over, to queue in a common queue merely for the privilege to relieve myself, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the sheer unfairness of it. A valuable metric for any civilised culture would be gender parity in wee waiting times. I’m seeking out data on this.

Brotherly Banter in the Procession

Returning to my line, I attempted to initiate some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this is an disagreeable variation, isn't it chaps?”

One person smiled, a second looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of a failing society, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. An individual exited, zipping up. The line advanced a place. Two more men entered the rear of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Interaction

A woman glided out of the next-door toilet, all clean and relaxed. It was just fine for some. I grinned bashfully at her, endeavouring to communicate an understanding of this upside-down situation. She remarked: “Don't come to me for support, you bastard. Return when you’ve endured this on a regular basis and then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she didn’t say that. She didn’t say nothing. But I am convinced that’s what she was thinking. And I truly could not censure her.