🔗 Share this article

Just before the holidays, I experienced an extraordinary incident. I think it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of several mates, who happen to be dental professionals, but this isn't pertinent. The attending group were all blokes, which turns out to be key.

A Strange Situation

The venue was a bar and eatery enjoying a brisk business. A lost afternoon was had by all. Nice fare, nice beverages and unexpectedly amusing stories about oral health. Inevitably, the time dawned for trips to the gents. Those who went, I partially registered, appeared to be gone a considerable while. I didn’t dwell on why this might have been, but when it became me next, the mystery was solved.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a long queue for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

An Experience of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for sympathy from any woman here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, needing to line up to use a public toilet is standard practice. How many times have I observed women standing in a row while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the hassle of standing in line to use a toilet, there’s a tinge of embarrassment about lingering there, waiting for something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was decidedly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women walk straight through the portal while I was forced to stand solemnly in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at anything we had in our jackets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Practice of Toilet Queue Chitchat

There’s a whole conversational genre here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have scant knowledge. Ladies, I presume, have learned to be quite proficient at it, sharing small talk and an notable insight or two.

On this I’ve consulted some women of my acquaintance. The general agreement is that queue-based interaction is restricted to the rare exasperated look and the phrase: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the male.” A colleague told me it’s merely at the hand-washing stations afterwards that chat tends to break out.

Were I a woman, I’d waste no time on both pleasantries or reticence. If I was obliged, time and again, to stand in a shared procession only for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like crazy at the pure inequity of it. A useful measure for any modern community would be equal waiting times in urination waiting times. I’m researching studies on this.

Brotherly Interaction in the Queue

Returning to my line, I attempted to spark some male camaraderie going about this new situation of ours. I tutted a bit, gave a weary look and said something to the effect of: “So, this is an disagreeable change, right boys?”

Someone grinned, a second looked blank, a third appeared embarrassed. A further person gave a dismissive wave as if this was one more manifestation of broken Britain, woke madness etc. Aside from that, quiet reigned. A man exited, adjusting his clothing. The line shuffled up a position. Two more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A lady wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fresh and at ease. It was just fine for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, endeavouring to convey an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. She said: “Don't come to me for support, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve experienced this another hundred times and only then I could give you the time of day.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly wouldn’t censure her.