🔗 Share this article

Just before the festive season, I had an unusual episode. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are, as it happens tooth doctors, but this isn't pertinent. The assembled group were solely men, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The venue was a tavern experiencing a roaring trade. A wasted daytime was shared by the group. Nice food, good libations and surprisingly entertaining anecdotes about teeth. As expected, the moment arrived for excursions to the men's room. Those who ventured off, I half-noticed, seemed to be away a long time. I didn't ponder why this was, but when it became me next, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what should I find but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men’s. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this gathering were accustomed to.

A Taste of Everyday Life

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any woman here. I am fully cognizant that, for females, having to queue to use a public toilet is an everyday occurrence. Repeatedly have I observed women standing in a line while men in the same establishment have to do no such thing?

Apart from the annoyance of having to queue to use a convenience, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about lingering there, anticipating something that men generally don’t have to endure. It was truly enlightening to experience a dose of it myself, watching the women glide through the door while I was compelled to line up dutifully in queue with my fellow fellas, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our trouser pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Banter

There’s a complete form of small talk here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have minimal experience. Females, I surmise, have learned to be rather good at it, engaging in small talk and an engaging insight or two.

On this I’ve asked some women of my circle. The consensus is that intra-queue interaction is limited to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Screw this, I’m going to use the men’s.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the hand-washing stations afterwards that conversation tends to begin.

If I was a lady, I’d not spend a moment on either small talk or reticence. If I was compelled, over and over, to stand in a public line simply for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d rant angrily like there was no tomorrow at the utter injustice of it. A useful metric for any advanced culture would be equal waiting times in toilet queue durations. I’m looking for data on this.

Brotherly Chat in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some friendly chat going about this unprecedented circumstance of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, rolled my eyes and said something like: “So, this makes an disagreeable difference, doesn’t it boys?”

Someone grinned, another appeared confused, a third individual looked sheepish. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was yet another manifestation of broken Britain, political correctness etc. For the most part, stillness ensued. Someone emerged, adjusting his clothing. The queue shuffled up a position. Another two men joined the rear of it. I exhaled.

A Knowing Interaction

A lady wafted out of the next-door restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was all right for some. I grinned sheepishly at her, attempting to convey an understanding of this reversed state of affairs. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for solidarity, you jerk. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I might give you the courtesy.”

Actually, she never spoke that. She uttered anything. But I know that’s what she was implying. And I truly would not censure her.