🔗 Share this article

Shortly before the festive season, I experienced an remarkable episode. I feel it did me good. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who are, as it happens dental professionals, but this isn't important. The attending group were solely men, which is significant.

A Strange Situation

The establishment was a pub/restaurant doing a roaring trade. A forgotten daytime was had by all. Good food, nice beverages and surprisingly amusing anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the moment dawned for visits to the male facilities. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a long time. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it came to me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. An empty space 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 knew.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I do not seek or anticipate empathy from any lady here. I am fully conscious that, for females, needing to line up to use a restroom is the norm. How many times have I seen women queuing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do nothing of the sort?

In addition to the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a tinge of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to experience. It was decidedly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the opposite gender breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, fiddling at whatever we had in our jackets and consulting our phones.

The Practice of Restroom Line Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal knowledge. Ladies, I imagine, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in polite remarks and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some lady acquaintances of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks afterwards that conversation tends to start up.

Had I been a lady, I’d refrain from on either pleasantries or silence. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a shared procession simply for the chance to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like nobody’s business at the sheer inequity of it. A handy measure for any advanced culture would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Procession

During my time in my line, I endeavoured to get some male camaraderie going about this unprecedented situation of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and uttered something along the lines of: “Well, this is an disagreeable variation, right chaps?”

A fellow chuckled, a second looked blank, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another shook his head as if this was yet another manifestation of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Otherwise, quiet prevailed. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The queue advanced a spot. A couple more men entered the back of it. I exhaled.

An Unspoken Exchange

A female wafted out of the neighbouring restroom, all clean and at ease. It was just fine for some. I smiled sheepishly at her, attempting to communicate acknowledgement of this upside-down state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for support, you blighter. Return when you’ve endured this a hundred more times and then I might give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she didn’t say that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I honestly could not fault her.