🔗 Share this article

In the run-up to Christmas, I had an unusual episode. I believe it proved instructive. This occurred at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't important. The attending group were solely men, which turns out to be significant.

An Unfamiliar Situation

The location was a tavern experiencing a excellent custom. A lost afternoon was enjoyed by everyone. Good food, good beverages and surprisingly humorous stories about teeth. Inevitably, the time came for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a significant period. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it became my turn, all became clear.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gents' lavatory. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a substantial line for the men’s. What bizarre turn was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of Common Reality

Let me state unequivocally, I neither court nor expect pity from any lady here. I am obviously cognizant that, for ladies, needing to line up to use a public toilet is the norm. On countless occasions have I witnessed women queuing in a row while men in the identical venue have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of standing in line to use a convenience, there’s a hint of indignity about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to wait for. It was profoundly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the opposite gender walk straight through the door while I was forced to wait patiently in line with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our jackets and scrolling through our phones.

The Art of Restroom Line Banter

There’s a whole style of dialogue here – lavatory line banter – of which men have minimal familiarity. Women, I imagine, have become adept to be quite proficient at it, exchanging small talk and an notable insight or two.

Regarding this I’ve polled some female friends of my acquaintance. The prevailing view is that intra-queue dialogue is confined to the odd weary glance and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A associate informed me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations later that discussion tends to start up.

Were I a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either niceties or quiet. If I was forced, repeatedly, to wait in a shared procession merely for the privilege to empty my bladder, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the sheer inequity of it. A valuable measure for any advanced culture would be gender parity in toilet waiting times. I’m looking for data on this.

Comradely Banter in the Line

Returning to my queue, I endeavoured to get some brotherly banter going about this novel situation of ours. I tutted a bit, showed exasperation and uttered something like: “Ah, this is an irksome difference, right chaps?”

A fellow grinned, someone else appeared confused, a other man appeared embarrassed. Yet another rolled his eyes as if this was a further symptom of modern woes, cultural decline etc. For the most part, stillness prevailed. A man came out, zipping up. The queue moved forward a spot. Two more men took a place at the back of it. I let out a breath.

A Silent Moment

A female emerged out of the next-door restroom, all clean and unhurried. It was perfectly okay for some. I beamed sheepishly at her, trying to convey an understanding of this upside-down state of affairs. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you blighter. Come back when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I may give you the time of day.”

Truthfully, she did not utter that. She didn’t say a word. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not blame her.