🔗 Share this article

Just before the holidays, I had an extraordinary incident. I believe it proved instructive. This took place at a meeting of some old friends, who are, as it happens dentists, but that’s not relevant. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be relevant.

A Strange Scenario

The establishment was a tavern doing a brisk business. A lost session was shared by the group. Good food, nice drink and surprisingly amusing stories about dentistry. Naturally, the time dawned for visits to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it came to my go, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a great long one for the gents'. What strange new world was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue were accustomed to.

A Sample of Common Reality

To be perfectly clear, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am acutely cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. How many times have I observed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do the opposite?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of embarrassment about lingering there, awaiting something that men typically don’t have to endure. It was profoundly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the women walk straight through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in line with my fellow fellas, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our handsets.

The Art of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Women, I presume, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, engaging in pleasantries and an engaging comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The general agreement is that within-the-line interaction is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate told me it’s exclusively at the sinks subsequently that discussion tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or quiet. If I was forced, over and over, to stand in a public line only for the chance to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like nobody’s business at the utter injustice of it. A useful metric for any civilised society would be gender parity in urination waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to get some male camaraderie started about this unprecedented situation of ours. I tutted a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “Well, this represents an irksome difference, right chaps?”

One person chuckled, another looked blank, a third looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further example of modern woes, woke madness etc. Otherwise, silence reigned. An individual exited, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a position. Two more men joined the back of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A female wafted out of the neighbouring facility, all fresh and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned apologetically at her, trying to communicate recognition of this topsy-turvy scenario. She said: “Don't turn to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this a hundred more times and then I may give you the time.”

Actually, she did not utter that. She didn’t say anything. But I am convinced that’s what she was feeling. And I honestly could not censure her.